


The Acherus Chronicles

by Weatherwax



Series: We do what the living cannot [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Death Knights - Freeform, Koltira and Thassarian go through so much embarrassment, Legion compliant, M/M, Multi, World of Warcraft - Freeform, ebon blade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:50:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8595043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weatherwax/pseuds/Weatherwax
Summary: Series of little one-shots from the Legion campaign.First chapter is Koltira and Thassarian because I love them and brought them together.Most chapters will have OCs in it because Blizzard gave the Ebon Blade to my DK so he's boss now, but then he's been living with the npcs since 2k8 so it's all good. Have fun.





	1. Dear Koltira

Koltira Deathweaver stood quietly beside Darion Mograine in attention, his hands held at his back and chin up, as the new Deathlord took the portal with Nazgrim and Thassarian on his way to raise Thoras Trollbane from his grave, the very first day after dragging Koltira out of Undercity right under the Banshee Queen’s nose. This time, just to “balance things out with the factions,” as the Deathlord had said, they’d be going to raise one of the biggest heroes the humans had ever known.

Yes, because digging Nazgrim up and stealing Koltira from under the new Warchief’s nose and thus courting the wrath of the Horde wasn’t good enough for the Ebon Blade and their bizarre ally, the Lich King (Koltira could not imagine working under _that_ one again in a million years). No, they had to shit on their reputation with the Alliance, too. 

All they needed to actually truly and really be hated and hunted by _everyone_ alive in Azeroth now was to mess with the Argent Crusade, really.

Koltira was of course very grateful for being saved from Sylvanas’ clutches after all the years of torture and half-assed attempts at brainwashing, but did his new commander have to tell him he had come to “help Thassarian get his, erm, ‘brother of the Ebon Blade’ back” with such a dirty, sly smirk on his face? Koltira had been shocked.

Also he had heard the new Deathlord and Nazgrim (who were thick as thieves and equally uncouth) actually giggled at seeing Thassarian carrying Koltira’s gear from the deposit to his – now theirs, because the Deathlord had decided, as he said, that since they’d be raising the Four Horsemen then they probably had leave to raise some more death knights to replace all those who had died for good since the old days, after all, the Legion was a terrible enemy and what were the dead good for if not to fight for the living? Henceforth, due to space constraints and so on, the death knights would have to share rooms, in order to accommodate the new conscripts.

Nazgrim had actually bitten his upper lip with the slyest look in his eyes while looking at Thassarian and Koltira in that meeting.

Koltira was literally nudged out of his thoughts. He looked around, startled, to see Siouxsie the Banshee hand him a worn journal. Everyone had already gone about their business, which meant he had been staring at that damned portal like an idiot for gods know how long.

Siouxsie cleared her throat. “The Deathlord asked me to give this to you. You are to read it and put it back where it belongs before they come back from this mission. He said you would know where it belongs.”

Koltira didn’t know how to feel. On the one side, he was grateful for the task. On the other, he was getting tired already of people stepping on eggs around him. Yes, he had been imprisoned, yes, he had suffered in Sylvanas’ hands, yes nobody, least of all his former friends except for Thassarian had moved a finger for him in years to keep the peace between the Horde and the Ebon Blade.

Yes, it had taken a new leader with absolutely no regard for factions or politics, who had forged dual blades out of Frostmourne just to keep them mounted on a mantle in his room because “I wanted Arthas’ skull but after that Guldan business they wouldn’t let me have it,” to get him back, but now Koltira was back, eager to fight, and that was what mattered.

He reached his room and closed the door behind him, throwing the book on his bed and switching on a light before removing his battle gear. After all, if his task was a scholarly one then he could at least be comfortable doing it.

He fluffed his pillows – thank goodness that Thassarian had taken good care of those, they were one of the few indulgences from his past life Koltira had maintained – and made himself comfortable under the covers before opening the journal.

_‘Dear Koltira,’_

Koltira did a double-take. Surely this wasn’t Thassarian’s… he checked the date, scribbled in the upper right-hand corner. It was dated a month after Koltira had been imprisoned.

_‘Dear Koltira,_

_I have tried getting you out of the Undercity dungeons by myself, and failed. I have tried asking King Wrynn for help, and failed. I have begged Lord Mograine for help, to no avail. Sylvanas is much too influent in the Horde, and with Deathwing destroying the world no one will listen to the ramblings of a lone dead man._

_So all I have to keep myself from going mad, Koltira, is this book, where I can at least pretend to communicate with you._

_Every single day since you were taken, Koltira, I have berated myself for not telling you my true, deepest feelings. My shame for having killed you and brought you into this unlife, and then my terror of losing your friendship held me back, and now as I imagine you alone in captivity, no doubt without a shred of hope of being saved, unknowing that you are loved, wanted, needed, what is left of my wretched heart bleeds in rueful remorse.’_

Koltira raised his shocked gaze from the journal and held it to his chest for a long moment, indecisive. What to do? Keep reading? Stop there? Intrude on Thassarian’s secrets? But… they were addressed to him, weren’t they?

And why hadn’t Thassarian said anything? Fine, they hadn’t really had time to be alone, what with Koltira having been rushed to the infirmary and Thassarian having been ordered to the deposit (which considering had been a good idea, Koltira had watched as the Deathlord manhandled him through the deathgate to stop him from slaughtering everyone in the Forsaken capital after seeing what they had done) to get Koltira’s stuff sorted.

After much, much probing and sewing and injecting and Shadows knows what else Koltira had been released in such a state he had simply dropped unconscious on his bed, to wake up this morning to the sound of Thassarian pulling on his armor. He had instinctively huddled around himself, before feeling the magically warmed covers (his second indulgence) remind him of where he was, and the relief he had felt had overwhelmed him so that he had avoided Thassarian as he got up and dressed. But damn, _he_ had told Thassarian he thought they’d never meet again back in the Undercity, hadn’t he?

Koltira shook his head, and decided to read on for a while, if nothing to at least make sure Thassarian wasn’t pulling a joke on him, after all, even though he had always been way too sappy for a death knight, he had never expressed his feelings in such a… colorful manner.

‘ _Dear Koltira,_

_The truth inside my soul shall never be known, nor the deep changes that have come upon me in the years we have been together as brothers of the Ebon Blade._

_In the beginning I had only felt shame and regret and pain at looking at you. But then you and I began working together, we gained each other’s trust and I saw as my duty to protect you.’_

Koltira rolled his eyes fastidiously at that.

_‘But soon I learned how resourceful and ruthless you were. Your thirst for blood and pain was bigger and more powerful than mine, and I learned to admire you as my brother in death. But much later I realized I… I felt pleasure when we sparred and you rained your wrath upon me. Yes, I felt I wanted you to take me, to subjugate me, and not only as a warrior, for my body responded to you as for no brother.’_

Koltira kicked his blankets off and snapped the journal shut before pacing around the room, for the first time in his undeath feeling too warm to enjoy the artificial heat as his own body responded to Thassarian’s words.

Sure, he did have enormous pleasure in causing pain and suffering, it was part of the curse that being a death knight was, for crying out loud. But being on the receiving end of it?

However, the more Koltira thought about it, the more flustered he became. The thruth was he had always particularly enjoyed beating the unliving shit out of Thassarian in their sparring duels, the man was so eager for a fight, it made Koltira’s blood boil. But he had always taken it as a sign of the bloodlust, a twisted vengeance by hurting the one who had killed him.

Or something.

 Koltira sat down and picked it up again.

_‘I always thought you looked handsome even for an elf, but after this… this pleasure, this want, this need began, I would catch myself staring at you, enthralled, at the most stupid occasions. When you scowled, when you fought (I almost lost my head to the enemy a couple of times seeing you lick blood that dripped on your lips), and when you smiled, it was as if the Light shone upon me. And I realized my want went beyond the pain, beyond the suffering. I wanted not only for you to hurt me but I also wanted to touch you, to worship you… to kiss you.’_

Koltira let the journal fall on his lap, and ran a hand over his chest. He could feel the runes engraved on his body burning, his blood boiling in his veins, his cock hard, just as he felt whenever he finished their sparring by piercing Thassarian’s gut with a dag…

Oh.

Ok, definitely _or something_ , then.  

Well, it was a relief to realize then that this lust didn’t necessarily involve blood, things could get messy, right?

Koltira chuckled darkly, and rubbed his face with a hand. Twenty years in captivity and away from Byfrost (how the hell did they find his damn weapon and armor anyway?) must’ve finished driving him insane.

He had spent those years firmly set in resisting all of Sylvanas’ attempts at turning him against Thassarian and the Ebon Blade. She and her apothecaries had used every single tool in the box to bend his mind, so he had focused on keeping it as empty of hope and memories as he could by convincing himself he had no worth left to anyone.  He had found a space in his own mind to hide, and stayed there, devoid of all emotion, uncaring, cold.

Until he had heard Thassarian scream his name, and saw him and the Deathlord invade the room and take away the magical chains that stopped him from escaping through a Death Gate.

Until he had woken and really realized what had happened. Until he had begun to read Thassarian’s words.

He now knew he had never been forgotten, knew he was cherished, wanted, loved, so much that the one who did had never given up on him, despite all the years passed.

And he was desired… by the Sunwell, he was desired, despite all. Desired in body and soul, what was left of it. Desired for more than just violence, and by the one he himself cherished above all, the one love that had blossomed in his wretched spirit after undeath.

* * *

 

 

 

Two days later, after reading some other entries in the journal, Koltira was lust-gripped yet again.

‘ _Dear Koltira,_

_A few days ago I received news of you, from a sympathetic Forsaken who works for the apothecaries. He sent me, along with the news that you were alive and resisting, the few possessions you had back in Andorhal, for safekeeping._

_One of those was a small washcloth I remembered teasing you for, back in the days we worked under Arthas. Light, I made so much fun of you for insisting to bathe even in undeath, but in reality I admired you for not forgetting who you were, who you still are._

_Well, I hope it pleases you to know that I have resumed my hygiene as when I was alive; temptation got the better of me and I filched your washcloth for myself. I have even contacted the herbalist that made the soap you liked after we were freed so I could, if not see or touch you, smell like you._

_I will tell you, it was a strange feeling to touch my own naked body for such a mundane task after all the years of not caring for it – you can imagine the color of the water in that first bath, oh Light how could Leryssa ever come near me? There were indeed things living in my beard, just as you constantly leered about – at the first bath. But the hot water… oh, the hot water, Koltira. Now I know why you were constantly surrounding yourself with warmth on your free time. I felt almost alive, the hot water was so good._

_I got used to it quickly. Siouxsie joked that the contrast between my tattooed face and my white hair was even stronger now that I wasn’t sporting all that grime, but I don’t care, it makes me feel closer to you._

_So close that, Light help me, I touched myself thinking of you._ ’

Koltira did a double-take at the phrase, his eyes widening. He turned the page in a hurry.

_‘It was the first time ever since I died that I felt this urge, but the knowledge that I was holding something that came into such intimate contact with you overwhelmed me, and oh Koltira, it was so good to feel pleasure out of something other than violence and blood. It was sweet, being surrounded by the smell of Silverleaf that you carried whenever you went, and when I closed my eyes I could imagine the two of us together in the warmth, you in front of me, with your head on my shoulder, and I with my head buried in your hair while I washed myself, and then when I felt the cloth touch my cock, I lost myself. I imagined your firm grip in me, your stern face above mine, an intense look in your eyes as you forced my surrender to your whims despite my pleading eyes, and as I saw in my mind you give me one of those self-satisfied smirks you show when you know you’ll win one of our duels I came undone, biting my left hand to smother the noise.’_

Was it even possible to… in undeath? Koltira looked down suspiciously at his own erect cock, and back at the text, and then at the door, and then back at his cock. He certainly had never tried. Would he dare to find out?

He scowled. He was a Death Knight, for crying out loud, not that horny paladin from those despicable Steamy Romance Novel books he kept seeing lying around Amal’thazad’s library (and what in the nether was that with lichs and porn anyway? Damn things didn’t even have bodies anymore!). But fuck if he didn’t feel like a loaded boomstick right now, damn that Thassarian.

Koltira could feel the tips of his ears burning as he approached the door and, with a suffering sigh, locked it.

He stood in the middle of the room wondering how to go about it. Not that he didn’t know how what to do: elves were very liberal when it came to sex, as a rule, and Koltira had enjoyed his fair share of it probably for much longer than Thassarian had been alive, for elves had the same span of childhood as humans, but lived as young adults for much, much longer – it was just that he hadn’t seen his cock as anything other than an appendage for so long, hadn’t thought about having pleasure with it for so many decades, he felt weird.

But doggone it if he wouldn’t try it. After all, Thassarian did it, and nothing Thassarian could do was impossible for Koltira to surpass.

Besides, if blue balls were unhealthy for the living, Koltira knew they would be at least extremely uncomfortable for the undead.

He took his shirt and linen breeches off, already being barefoot, and lied down on his bed, only to rise a few seconds later to cross the room and lie on Thassarian’s instead.

Yes, much better. Koltira could smell the silverleaf soap and the clean frost of Thassarian’s skin underneath. He reread the last passage of the journal, recalling Thassarian’s face when they fought, the roughness  of his features – Koltira had never thought the man handsome, what with that broken nose , that he never allowed be fixed, the precocious white hair that belied his age, that rough beard Koltira loved to pull when he raised Thassarian’s head as he bent over him to push the dagger through his chest…

Only now it wasn’t a dagger and Koltira wasn’t pushing it into his chest, but through his mouth, watching his soulful eyes light up in lust and pain when Koltira fucked his throat uncaring of his gagging.

“Take it,” Koltira breathed out. “Take my cock, Thassarian, and make it wet, if you know what’s good for you,” he mumbled, turning around on the bed and grabbing a fistful of the sheets as he humped the mattress with abandon. After a couple of minutes he kneeled, his eyes closed.

“Hands and knees,” he said in a couple octaves lower than his normal voice. In his mind, Thassarian gave him a piercing look before assuming the position, and lowering his torso on his elbows. Koltira caressed the imaginary Thassarian’s back with a hand, before plunging inside him.

“Don’t scream,” Koltira muttered, and fell forward, slipping a hand under the pillow as he speeded up with the other, thrusting desperately into his fist. His breath quickened, and he buried his face in the pillow, coming undone with a smothered cry of “Dalah'surfal!” and passing out.

* * *

 

 

It took Koltira three entire days to get to the end of Thassarian’s journal.

He just couldn’t help the self-abuse; Thassarian’s fantasies were everywhere, nearly twenty years of them, and the human got more creative with time; more daring, more passionate, more desperate, and the magnitude of his feelings and how he ached for him made Koltira burn.

‘ _Dear Koltira,_

_Darion Mograine is stepping down from the leadership of the Ebon Blade. The one to succeed him is an old acquaintance of ours who had left the order after Light’s Hope to pursue his own destiny as an adventurer. He’s a blood elf, like you. In fact you might even remember him; he was the one to help us on our private problem with the Scarlet Crusade._

_He has come back privy to the Lich King’s trust and with a list of deeds that could, if written, probably reach Light’s Hope from up here in Acherus. I don’t know what he and Darion cooked up, but the fact is, beloved, that I have never lost hope of rescuing you, and I will ask him for help. Else, so help me Light, I will storm the Undercity myself.’_

_Koltira turned to the last written record._

_‘Dear Koltira,_

_The Deathlord has agreed, and more, he said there will probably be no need for violence, since Sylvanas is absent and he has easy access to the Undercity._

_I have asked if they really won’t attack because of my earlier affiliation with the Alliance, for being human… before. He laughed, and said that so were most of the people in the Undercity, and that they are perfectly able to understand._

_I was humbled. And hopeful._

_We will be going tomorrow morning._

_Suffer well, my love._

_Yours in death and unlife,_

_Thassarian_ ’

Well, that explained how all of a sudden the death knight had appeared with a violin-string tense Thassarian at one side and a smug unknown apothecary at the other, acting bold as brass, removing Koltira from his cage and infusing him with enough unholy energy to open a Death Gate – he had, for some untold reason, refused to leave until Koltira could do at least that on his own, and seemed satisfied when he did.

Koltira made to close the journal, and a leaf of paper slipped out of the leather inseam.

‘ _Koltira Deathweaver,_

_It is true that we do what the living cannot. But, contrary to popular belief, we are not monsters. I have traveled all of Azeroth, have seen the inhospitable planes of Outland, have lived for years in Draenor, fighting alongside its citizens._

_And everywhere, Koltira, people were the same, living or not, elf or not. From the old Forsaken lady in Brill who asked me for a few materials to craft herself a blanket to warm her old bones to the living children of all races I have met who had become lost, or orphaned, in the many wars, everyone was the same, people who just wanted a reason to be content, to be happy, for as long as they could._

_For life, be it the first, the second, or as Sylvanas wills it, the hundredth (ha – by the way I order you to keep this indiscretion to yourself, or I swear you will become Nazgrim’s new toothpick), happiness is all that matters. Everything else is just a means to get there._

_You and Thassarian are blessed with a precious gift. Live it, for we can still do much of what the living can, too._ ’

* * *

 

 

That night the Deathlord and his party came back, plus one very amused Thoras Trollbane.

“Are you serious?” he asked Nazgrim as they walked down from the landing platform after coming out of the Death Gate.

“Oh, yes, my friend. Just turned to her and said ‘You can crack _my_ nuts anytime,” the orc said, pointing to his left side, where the Deathlord sighed dreamily and smirked. The human and the orc laughed raucously. Behind them came Thassarian, with his usual stony expression, but his eyes softened as soon as he saw Koltira standing at attention in the command pad of the Acherus, and the sight made Koltira’s stomach flutter.

After sending the new Horseman with a novice to his new accommodations, the Deathlord turned to Koltira and Thassarian, who had as usual gravitated toward each other. “Have you finished the task?” he asked Koltira, who nodded. “Good. You are both dismissed, then. Thassarian, I’m tasking you with Koltira’s acquaintance with the new rules and regulations of the Acherus and his training. Make sure he is 100% ready for work as soon as you can, both physically and mentally. That is all,” he commanded, with a dismissive gesture.

Koltira couldn’t help stealing glances at Thassarian as they moved through the dark corridors, not knowing what the hell to do or to say.

“So,” Thassarian said, looking at him with an expectant expression. “Have you settled back well? I hope you weren’t too crowded in my, er… our room,” he said, and averted his eyes.

And good thing too, because Koltira’s eyes went wide in a deer in the headlights expression, his thoughts going immediately to the mess he had done – for days, by the Sunwell – in Thassarian’s bed. Ok, he had had the presence of mind of cleaning everything as soon as he had finished reading the journal, but now thinking back he could’ve been caught literally red-handed if Thassarian had come back early. That thought made Koltira miss his footing and stumble, and Thassarian caught him by his waist.

“Are you all right?” Thassarian asked, helping him up against the wall. Koltira nodded, averting his eyes, and moved away quickly to unlock the door, getting inside hurriedly.

“Koltira?” Thassarian called softly after closing the door behind him. “If you’re uncomfortable with anything, I can ask the Deathlord to find me a place to bunk while you recover, or” he didn’t get to finish due to Koltira pushing him against the door, their armor clanking loudly.

“No,” Koltira said, and grabbed Thassarian’s head with both hands. “Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare,” he growled in fear. “Twenty years without you, Thassarian. No more,” he said, and his voice hitched. “No more,” he whispered, caressing the human’s jaw with a thumb and breathing deeply.

He could smell Thassarian’s frosty sweat under the blood smears over his armor, and under that, the fresh scent of Silverleaf. “You smell good,” he said, watching the fascinated look Thassarian gave him, and lost his words when he saw the tip of his tongue wet his lips. He leaned in, watching those lips, tasting them even before he reached them, and when he did, Thassarian moaned.

Koltira lost himself in Thassarian’s mouth, licking the inseam of his lips, his teeth, the roof, before Thassarian clamped down on his tongue, sucking it as if trying to swallow him whole.

After a few moments Koltira pulled Thassarian’s head back.

“Stop whining,” he said as Thassarian whimpered. “We can’t do this with armor on,” he muttered, already going for the straps holding Thassarian’s spaulders.

“Am I… am I dreaming?” Thassarian asked breathlessly, and Koltira smirked.

“No, you’re not. Help me get these off,” he answered, beginning to unstrap his own spaulders. He raised his head to see the human staring at him with wide eyes, and sighed.

“Thassarian, I want you to be mine. Now, do you want my cock down your throat or not?” he said, looking pointedly at him.

Fire pooled in Thassarian’s dark eyes, and he fell to his knees while furiously pulling off his gloves and then attacking Koltira’s legplates with a vengeance, his hands trembling.

Koltira was transfixed with the image of Thassarian on his knees before him, eagerly dismantling his armor. He caressed Thassarian’s hair as he finally removed his codpiece and touched his prize through Koltira’s breeches, feeling its length and gulping. Blood Elves had famously long cocks and Koltira’s wasn’t an exception.

“Are you going to back out now?” Koltira asked in a mocking tone, and Thassarian scowled.

“Never!” he growled in defiance, and tried to swallow him in one go, choking in the process.

“Not like that,” Koltira breathed out, and pulled Thassarian up, giving out a low laugh at his hurt expression. “I’m not mad at you, just having a better idea,” he said, before pulling him in for a kiss. “Finish undressing and sit on your heels on top of the bed, facing me,” he commanded, pulling on the straps holding the last pieces of Thassarian’s armor in place.

Thassarian squinted at him. “You seem to have planned this before… h-hand,” he said, stuttering the last as Koltira shoved a hand down his breeches, after carelessly tossing his codpiece on the floor.

Koltira almost laughed, Thassarian had no idea. He smirked, tugging at the human’s hard cock. “Any complaints, soldier?” he asked huskily, and Thassarian shivered, shaking his head firmly and discarding his armor and clothes every which way, unmindful of the clatter.

Thassarian assumed position on top of the bed while Koltira finished discarding his armor, but kept the open breeches and shirt on, his long cock standing proudly amidst white-blond curls.

Koltira caressed the human’s face with one hand, and pushed him down with the other. “Put your arms forward,” he instructed, pulled the hair at the back of Thassarian’s head until he was perfectly facing forward, and guided his cock into his mouth.

Thassarian’s breath hitched in surprise at how much he could take on this position, but he immediately relaxed his throat when Koltira grabbed his hair and pulled his head forward harshly. He inhaled Koltira’s burning, irony scent and a shiver went through him. His dick jumped and leaked a bit, his lips tingled. Light, it was really Koltira’s hard cock in his mouth, his strong hands holding his head, making use of him, as Thassarian had dreamed, it was all he could do to hug the elf closer to him, he so much wanted to fuse their bodies together.

“Dalah’thalas… dalah’raaresh, dalah’ lofiam, dalah’amarser,” Koltira muttered as he fucked Thassarian’s face , holding his head in place with one hand while he caressed his back with the other. “So much better than my fantasies,” he whispered.  Thassarian moaned, surging forward as if trying to swallow him whole, cock first.

Koltira roared, coming deep into Thassarian’s throat, then pulling out to smear the last of his spurts on his face, before pulling him up, kissing him deeply and licking him, toppling them both over the bed in a heap of limbs.

“My love… my friend… my brother in arms… my light,” Thassarian breathed, running his fingers through Koltira’s long hair, looking at him with devotion.

Koltira moved over him, and Thassarian groaned in pleasure as the elf sat astride his hips. He watched as he touched his hairy chest, the scar of creation lower than Koltira’s own.

“You wanted to spare me the suffering,” Koltira said, and Thassarian nodded.

“I’ve loved you since back then,” he said quietly. “I had no courage to admit it, though, until you were taken from me. All these years…”

Koltira shushed him with a finger. “I am here, dalah’surfal. We have eternity to spend together,” he said. He then reached between his legs and tugged lightly on Thassarian’s hard cock. “Have you ever been fucked?” he asked, and Thassarian’s eyes widened.

“I… I…” he stammered, “No. I… I’ve never…” Light, not even in his wildest fantasies, he wanted to say, but the awed expression on Koltira’s face took his breath away.

“I will forever cherish this gift, beloved,” Koltira said, and kissed him, before leaving the bed. Thassarian raised his head to watch him moving to the simple, utilitarian closet, rummaging around for a bit, and coming out of it with a vial in one hand and his cock in the other, stroking it back to full hardness as he moved towards Thassarian with an ominous look in his eyes.

By then Thassarian’s own hardness had waned a bit, just enough that it didn’t hurt – surprisingly he hadn’t come just from sucking Koltira’s cock, but then considering the elf was hard again already he was actually thankful he didn’t.

“Hands and knees,” Koltira ordered, and bit his lower lip as Thassarian moved to comply.

“I’m going to carve my shape inside you,” Koltira said with both cruelty and desire in his voice. Thassarian’s knees went weak, and he whimpered. Koltira draped himself over him, biting his shoulder. "I'll ruin you for anyone else, surfalore,” he whispered, running his teeth and tongue through Thassarian’s back.

“Yes…” Thassarian hissed.

Koltira moved down slowly, but hesitated as he reached the curve of Thassarian’s ass. The deathknight was definitely no stranger to pain, but what if?

“Thassarian,” he called. “I… don’t have anything to make you slick. This will hurt very much, but I’ll go slow. It’ll help.”

“No,” Thassarian responded, shaking his head. “I want it. I want you to hurt, to tear me. I really want to feel you’re carving your shape into me. Claiming me,” he wet his lips. “Turn me yours.”

Koltira’s eyes flared red around the edges, and he pushed Thassarian forward, making him fall to his elbows. He then spread the cheeks in front of him and mouthed the hole, tonguing and sucking hard on it.

Thassarian shouted and quivered with the sensation, the wetness, the teeth lightly scraping the sensitive – how had he ever lived without knowing how sensitive that area could be? – skin, the tongue pushing to breach him, the fingers pushing inside, oh, the sweet burn, pulling on the edges and stretching him, even the sound of Koltira spitting inside his hole before coating his insides with the saliva drove him insane with pleasure, yes, Light, Thassarian wanted to yell for Koltira to debase, degrade, defile him utterly, completely.

He whimpered as he heard the sheets rustling behind him and felt Koltira align with his body, and when he asked him if he was ready all he could do was arch his back and hold his cheeks open in silent offering.

Koltira saw the display and all the hesitation left him, and he grabbed Thassarian’s hips with confidence, pushing his cock into him without mercy or warning. It took three hard, glorious thrusts to bury his dick balls deep, Thassarian’s loud, pained but also triumphant moaning forcing Koltira to viciously strangle the base of his own cock so he wouldn’t just spill again and most probably pass out with the pleasure, not only because of the delicious pressure but also the fact this was Thassarian he was buried in, it was the man who had pierced him with his sword he was now claiming for himself, his, his Thassarian, his friend, his killer, his brother, his lover, the human who had both condemned and saved him so many times, for whom Koltira had endured unimaginable torture which he would never, ever burden him with knowing.

He pulled Thassarian up against him by the hair on his nape, and bit harshly on the curve of his neck, holding his chest against him with one hand while grabbing for his cock with the other so he could pump it in the same rhythm he pushed inside his hole, long, long strokes to match the depths his cock pushed, pulled, rubbed and was milked without mercy by relentlessly spasming inner muscles.

Thassarian’s pain, oh so delicious burning pain, soon faded to give place to the most intense pleasure he had ever felt. Nothing, not even bloodlust, had ever physically felt like being fucked by Koltira did. Thassarian’s entire world concentrated itself in Koltira’s cock hammering the back of Thassarian’s own from inside his asshole, rubbing against a spot that made him see stars, and in Koltira’s firm grip on his  shaft driving him insane, wishing both for release and to be able to delay his orgasm so the fucking lasted forever.

Koltira sensed the tension in Thassarian’s body and brought his hand up to his face, turning it to him.

“Come for me, dalah’surfal,” he said, and kissed him, tasting tears. He broke the kiss and held Thassarian even closer, looking worried at his eyes.

“I… I don’t… I don’t want this to end,” Thassarian confessed in a whisper, covering Koltira’s hands with his own and stalling his movements.

Koltira gave him an adoring look. “It will never end, my love. No one is ever going to break us away again,” he said, and kissed him, as they rode into completion together.


	2. The Missions

“He wants us to do WHAT?” Koltira asked, appalled.

“Our _Deathlord_ ,” Trollbane emphasized, “needs us to go to Orgrimmar and fetch him a basketful of ripe cactus apples.”

“But!”

“But nothing, soldier,” Trollbane  growled quietly. “You want to go back to eating raw fungus? Be my guest, but I for one am very grateful to have a little respite from suffering in this afterlife.”

“Still, it is undignified to send us in such a lowly mission, wasn’t it enough he made Lord Mograine hunt squirrels and crack nuts with him three days ago? What does he expect to gain doing this sort of thing?” Koltira huffed.

“Favors,” Nazgrim said, slapping Koltira’s back and nearly toppling him over as a greeting. “You gotta understand the mind of the adventurer, elf. See, if he doesn’t get Uda to let him back in the Filthy Animal’s kitchen he’ll never get to push Nomi to finding out how to cook the stuff we catch in these islands, and considering this place is damp, warm and smells generally horrible, if Nomi doesn’t cook for us we will soon be licking the mold off our armors for sustenance, and I know for a fact that Corvus is quite happy with Nomi’s version of the rich Kvaldir cheese they make here and would definitely be indisposed to fix our weapons were he to be deprived of it,” he explained.

“But none of that would’ve happened if the Deathlord hadn’t flipped out at Nomi in the first place!” Koltira retorted angrily.

“Well, Nomi does burn _a lot_ of food,” Thassarian commented quietly, and raised his hands in a conciliatory motion. “And you know the Deathlord takes it upon himself to get the ingredients for him. Some of those animals leave damn nasty bites before yielding their meat. And to be quite honest we eat _a lot_ of meat.”

“That’s another thing that’s been bothering me,” Koltira said, raising a finger for attention. “He is way, waaaay too careless. I’ve gone out of my mind following him around when he puts me in bodyguard duty. Last time he attacked twenty elite Suramar soldiers together! It was all I could do to survive!”

“Hmmm. I remember a hotheaded blood elf that also often drew his sword at multitudes…” Thassarian said with irony, making a pretense of looking at his gloved nails. Koltira kicked his ankle, scowling before huffing in defeat.

“Fine. Please try to look less human Lord Trollbane… we really don’t need the factions realizing we’re walking away from them.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it, if anyone asks I’m a well-preserved Forsaken,” Trollbane said with a smirk. “Oh Nazgrim, anything special we should watch out for?”

“Hmmmm… best not mention what you want the fruit for. No one should ask, but if anyone does, just tell them, eh… that you’ll use them to kill roaches up here in the Acherus,” the orc answered, a finger on his chin. “Also if you can avoid staying at the Valley of Strength inn it’d probably be for the best.”

Koltira threw his hands up in the air.


	3. Confessions

The new Deathlord had some incredibly annoying idiosyncrasies.

One of them was the fact he, unlike most other deathknights, had chucked his entire past away and assumed one of the names of the troll Loa of death.

That hadn’t gone down very well with the leaders of the Alliance, from whom the Ebon Blade had to hide Thoras Trollbane. They speculated that the Deathlord might have been a criminal in his former life – and to make matters worse, Lor’themar Theron outright denied having any shred of information about his previous life, citing the fires at Silvermoon back in the day as having destroyed most of the records of the citizens.

So that was a diplomatic issue – albeit a minor one.

The other was the Deathlord brain’s tendency to shut down when he was horny. That led to all sorts of delicate situations.  

On the other hand, most of the Acherus personnel ate out of his hand. The elf had a kind word for everyone, and, for Darion’s utter horror, had brought a more casual, less somber, definitely homely air to the Acherus.

And so it was that a small tradition where the command table was covered with a green cloth and the deathknights sat around it for a round of booze and cards every Friday night began.

It had started the day Darion had been installed as the leader of the Four Horsemen. The Deathlord hadn’t defied the Lich King’s decision, but…

“Next one that does something as _stupid_ as Darion did I will revive just to throw out of the Acherus on top of those demons down there, understand?” he growled, and Nazgrim took a couple of steps backwards.

“But Exu, I saved your life!” Darion said, livid.

“Ah ah, you just lost that privilege,” Exu, as was the name the Deathlord had chosen for himself, said waving his index finger. “It’s Milord for you from now on, until you earn it again.”

Darion sputtered. “But you would’ve died in there, I DID!”

Nazgrim put a hand over his face in chagrin, and the Deathlord’s Lichfire-lit eyes went red around the edges for a long minute, that he spent staring unblinking at Darion, until the new Horseman dropped his gaze.

Exu sighed, and shook his head. “I’m honestly not willing to deal with this any longer. However, discipline being what it is, I charge you with getting everyone – and I mean _everyone_ – booze and snacks for tonight, people have the right to celebrate your promotion AND the paladins have to know they haven’t bested us, so you’ll go to Dalaran and deal with the shopping yourself. Make it quick, but do make yourself seen by everyone, especially in the Alliance quarter,” he commanded, and left.

That night the officers were introduced to Gravestones, a Forsaken version of cribbage, and got hooked on it, much to Darion’s chagrin (especially as he lost more than won).

* * *

 

 

Tonight, Darion threw his cards on the table with a huff. “All my money is gone,” he grumbled, and Nazgrim grinned with all his teeth, a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s play something different,” Thoras Trollbane said, after the orc had wiped them clean of their weekly wages. “How about ‘Never have I ever’?”

Bishop Whitemane gave him a horrified look. “Your majesty!”

“What? We’re all dead, nobody is going to judge anyone,” Thoras said with a grin.

Koltira thought that the Horsemen were a little too comfortable with the whole undead thing for comfort, but kept it to himself.

“I’ll go first to break the ice, then. Fill’em up, kids,” he said, and filled his own cup with grog. “Never have I ever… hmmmmmmmm… kissed a troll,” he said.

The Deathlord, Nazgrim, Corvus and Siouxsie  the Banshee drank.

Whitemane’s jaw fell. “Really?” she asked Siouxsie, who nodded.

“Troll girls have the longest fingers,” she said, and Whitemane gulped while the others laughed. She raised her glass, as she was the first seated at Trollbanes’ right. “Never have I ever kissed a man,” she said, and Whitemane and the Deathlord drank.

“You guys know I can just tell Sylvanas you ran away and came back to the Acherus, don’t you? She’ll buy it, too, bitch owes me favors,” the Deathlord muttered, waggling his eyebrows. Koltira grudgingly picked up his mug and drank, but Thassarian raised his hand.

“Wait is that a human man or a general expression for male?” he asked, and Siouxsie smirked.

“Human,” she said, and Thassarian sighed in obvious relief. Koltira kicked him under the table.

Koltira raised his glass with narrowed eyes. “Never have I ever kissed a male elf,” he said. Thassarian took a drink and promptly choked on it as he saw the Deathlord, Corvus, Whitemane, Trollbane, Darion and Nazgrim drink as well.

“What? I was king, kings get perks,” Trollbane said in his defense.

“I was single once, you know,” said Whitemane with a huff.

“They gave me, I took it,” Corvus muttered.

Nazgrim pointed at the Deathlord. “It was a bet, we shared the cash,” he said, and they high-fived.

Nobody asked the Deathlord, by then in Acherus bets ran on the races he had _not_ molested in one way or another.

Everyone stared at Darion, who pouted, and grumbled something indistinct.

“Excuse-me? Speak up, my ears aren’t what they used to be,” the Deathlord asked, and Darion rolled his eyes.

“I was young, and bored, and we wanted to see if the Archbishop could really see every thought or memory through the Light like people said he could,” he muttered.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself at night,” Trollbane said, giving him a companionable pat on the back, and everyone cackled as Darion sputtered in outrage.

“Hnf! Well, fine,” Darion said, and raised his glass. “Never have I ever killed people out of sheer stupidity,” he said, sure that no one would drink to it and the game would end.

The Deathlord drank five times, and everyone, including Nazgrim, gaped at him.

“Ok I had JUST gotten back from Northrend, so you have to understand I wasn’t in my best mind yet,” he began, and eight necks craned closer.

“After I rejoined the Horde I decided to do some work for the Forsaken. I was curious to see what they’d be doing, what with Arthas dead,” all the deathknights toasted, “and all. So I went to Hillsbrad to find some odd-job to do. And then I got to the Sludge Pens, and there I met this apothecary, dude was opposed to Sylvannas’ ideas of raising more undead and experimenting with the humans, but he was being watched by the other apothecaries working there and couldn’t do anything himself, so he explained that five guards from Southshore were being kept buried up to their necks there to wait until they were used by the apothecaries, gave me a shovel and asked if I could help them out of their misery,” he explained, sighed and gave them a weary look. “And I did. In a manner of speaking. Definitely not my best moment. Ever,” he finished, shaking his head.

Whitemane frowned. “I don’t follow,” she said. “How did they die if all you had to do was dig them up?” she asked, and made a silent “Oh” when Siouxsie made a whacking motion.

And then Darion Mograine, of all people, let out a loud snort, and cupped his mouth to stifle his laughter, only to shake so convulsively he fell out of the chair, his loud laughing reverberating on the walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did kill the poor soldiers instead of digging them up when I did that quest with my DK. I only realized you COULD dig the poor bastards up instead of bashing their heads in when my wife did the same quest on her mage. That was really embarrassing...


	4. The neighbors

“Fuck you! And the horse you rode in on!”

The roar reverberated all through the Acherus, making everyone, even Rotgut, raise their heads in alarm, until a light laugh followed it. Everyone rolled their eyes and went back to work, except for Darion Mograine, who let out a suffering sigh and went to see what the hell had happened to his new boss this time – and only because Nazgrim was on a mission, that lucky bastard of an orc.

He found the Deathlord being half-carried by the leader of the Illidari, dragging a leg behind, said leg obviously having undergone serious injury, if nothing, because its foot was pointing backwards.

Darion groaned.

The Illidari and the Ebon Blade had become rather easygoing colleagues in the Broken Isles campaign. Both orders had their bases floating next to each other, were seen with definite suspicion by everyone else and their mother, the Ebon Blade because of their past and, as Darion was wont to say, because “Bolvar is definitely acting quite different nowadays,” and the Illidari because, weeeeeeeeeeerrrlll, they not only were Illidan’s half-demon fanbase but they had been imprisoned since Illidan had been killed by the Alliance and the Horde fighting together, and the factions just knew that slight was still lodged up on the Illidari’s throats, if they were even a teensy bit like their leader.

From being relatable to each other to the Ebon Blade deathlord’s higher brain functions shutting down due to the Illidari leader’s bright red hair and tendency to wear only a fur loincloth apparently made out of a hamster (and leather armguards) was a very, very small jump.

The Ebon Blade learned of their leader’s most recent infatuation (and oh what a relief it was, this break from overpowered and hot-headed orc females) when a completely livid Kayn Sunfury had landed on the Acherus holding a very sheepish, gore-covered and half naked Deathlord at arm’s length. The Demon Hunter had apparently found the deathknight quite literally buried to the hilt inside his – Kayn’s – leader at the bottom of the Fel Hammer, both covered in demon blood in a secluded area where the Illidari summoned powerful demons from the Nether to kill in their training sessions.

This time apparently the two elves had crossed paths while killing demons near the Illidari Perch, and as the Illidari leader gracefully jumped off a cliff, gliding down with his wings, the Ebon Blade leader had jumped after him on his goblin glider, which of course had to malfunction fifty feet up in the air and cause the death knight to splat on top of his foot.

“Um. Yes, most unfortunate, but then, milord, why didn’t you heal yourself?” asked Darion in a bored tone, since the Deathlord, like Koltira, knew a wide assortment of self-healing abilities.

His superior mumbled something  with his head low.

“What was that again, milord?” Darion asked, and the elf pouted.

“Din’t wanna hurt’im,” he mumbled quietly, diverting his eyes in obvious embarrassment – deathknights healed by inflicting wounds on others, a strategy the demon hunters also used and made duels involving members of the two orders as boring as watching paint dry.

Darion sighed deeply, while the demon hunter drawled an “Awwwwwwww,” and smiled impishly.

“Yes milord. I’ll call the necrosurgeons right away then. Milord Illidari, if I may?” Darion said in suffering, and took hold of the injured deathknight before they both watched the demonic elf jump beautifully off the Acherus’ landing platform to fly back to his own base, the loincloth fluttering up in the wind for a moment, baring his rounded yet muscled hairless buttocks.

Darion gave his superior’s idiotic lust-filled visage a side eye, and groaned again.


	5. The Fallen Prince

Amal’thazad was suddenly VERY glad he didn’t have a heart anymore as he woke up with the chilling, bloodcurdling scream.

The undead were necessarily known as people who didn’t sleep, but the fact was that sleep wasn’t only rest for the body but much needed for the soul as well; and since the undead had their souls worn thin from the extra time in unlife they took their rest and ran with it as often as they could. Amal’thazad, like the other lich, burdened with living in the slim frontier between the material and immaterial, used to happily nap floating in his laboratory and it wasn’t unusual for those who knew him better to laugh at his frigid, unfeeling fame, brought on by the simple fact half the time anyone spoke to him he was simply sleeping at their faces.

Right now he was hastily conjuring a robe over his half-solid skeletal form, and tattering around for the door, as another supernatural wail reverberated through the Acherus.

He berated himself for the fright, not thirty years ago such noises were common, weren’t they? In Arthas’ time they were an everyday occurrence, Amal’thazad still had nightmares…

He glided along the corridor, wondering which one of the death knights had brought home a stray ghost and why was it doing all that racket – most of their otherworldly guests liked the Acherus, the lichs kept the kitchens stocked with grave moss tea and banshee biscuits, and there was definitely none of that exorcism talk the paladins and priests liked so much.

“ _It burns!!! Stop!!! **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH**!”_ echoed around him as he found himself in the old dungeons. He drew his skeletal arms to his chest as he heard a hushed, gravelly, definitely demonic moan and the sinister low laugh that followed.

By Azeroth it had to be a Legion spy invading the Acherus! Amal’thazad zeroed in the cell door from whence the sounds came and burst in.

“Surrender to the Ebon… Blade…” he half-yelled, half-mumbled in embarrassment at the sight, and the two figures in front of him squeaked in unison.

“Oh, uh, I’m so sorry Milords, I uh, ah…” Amal’thazad sputtered as the Illidari leader covered the Deathlord’s backside with his wings, “There was screaming and…”

His eye sockets were drawn to the twin blades buried on the wall, from which the Illidari leader was literally hanging , the runes glowing green with residual fel fire. The demon hunter grinned slyly at him, and Amal’thazad glided back. “I mean, screaming as if someone was being tortured,” he amended, while privately thinking ‘Oh, so that’s where _those_ went,’ since the Deathlord favored the Maw of the Damned in battle.

The Deathlord turned his head to the side, frowned, and then nodded. “Oh yes, that would be Arthas,” he said casually, and Amal’thazad gaped.

The Illidari leader muttered something in Demonic, then smiled at Amal’thazad over the death knight’s shoulder. “There are sound wards in place now, sorry, forget my own head next. Good night,” he apologized, and nuzzled the Deathlord’s short, unkempt gray hair where it touched his neck.

Amal’thazad nodded and made to leave, but turned around again. “Uh, but milord, didn’t you have to exorcize Arthas’ soul from Frostmourne before it was reforged into the twin blades?” he asked, befuddled.

The elf sighed. “Bolvar is _so_ quick to forgive. I, on the other hand, enjoy holding my grudges, their screams are quite…exhilarating,” he explained without turning to look at Amal’thazad, and made a movement under the demon hunter’s wings that made him throw his head back and moan. Immediately fel fire flooded the blades’ runes, and the pained, pitiful screams were heard again.

Amal’thazad bowed and left, much relieved. Arthas Menethil’s defiled soul definitely wasn’t something anyone would want around, really. And the knowledge that the man responsible – for unlike many, the Ebon Blade were absolutely not prone to rely the responsibility on Ner’zhul; they witnessed firsthand how Arthas thrived in his cruelty – for his own tragedy was currently experiencing the proverbial turning of the tables by one of the people he had hurt made Amal’thazad actually a little jealous of his undead colleagues who still had flesh. After all, yes, with their source confirmed, the howls of the Fallen Prince did become terribly alluring…


	6. Small changes

It started, how else, with Leryssa. Thassarian was just getting off his skeletal flyer when he saw the woman come off the portal to Dalaran.

He did a double take and gaped. That portal was supposed to be one-way only!

“Thass!” she called out and ran towards him.

“Uh, eh, er, um...” Thassarian responded intelligently when she threw herself in his arms, and stared at his new leader, who was coming their way with a smile on his face and a carefully blank-faced Koltira in tow.

“Miss Leryssa, I’m happy to see you found your way here. Were the instructions easy enough?” the Deathlord asked.

“Yes milord, thank you so much milord,” she answered, and offered her hand to the death knight, who kissed it. Thassarian bristled, and the Deathlord winked at him, before unceremoniously pushing Koltira towards them.

“I will leave you three to talk now, duty never sleeps and all that. Koltira be nice, Thassarian you’re on bodyguard duty tomorrow. G’night!”

Leryssa laughed at Thassarian and Koltira’s dumbstruck faces, and slipped her arms in theirs.

“So, please tell me all about yourself, Koltira! We never got to meet before, what with all the faction issues, but Thass always talked so much about you, I just had to know the elf that stole his heart!” she said, leading them away.

After that, there was no way to avoid visitors anymore.

Peggy Burridge’s grandchildren came, the three of them, with their own six children and nine little grandchildren. Janitor Edwards and Corvus had spent the entire day removing small curious humans out of the runeforges and torture cages.

Janitor Edwards stopped complaining about messy visitors, because his brother came to see him, all the way from Booty Bay, bringing a cake for his birthday. He spent a week afterwards showing everyone the candles. There were a lot of them.

A couple of weeks after that, Tanjin the Ironshaper’s cousins came with an enormous cauldron of zandalari jambalaya; everyone in the Acherus ate, thanked them very much, and nobody asked what kind of meat they had used in it. And no, the Deathlord’s threat of bringing the Undercity cook to spend a week serving crunchy surprise had nothing to do with that.

Really.

And then Hallow’s End came, and that night Amal’thazad went to his quarters and found a small undead saber kitten in his bed.

His happy wails rang through the walls. He named it Mr. Bigglesworth, in memory of Kel’thuzad’s cat.

Soon afterwards one of the death knights got a core hound puppy from the demon hunters, whose ship was invaded by demons on a regular basis and had found that one of those sent to destroy them had instead birthed a litter in an unused room.

Of course, the pup and the kitten got together like a house on fire. Literally. And that ended up with the death knights trading their core hound pup for a skeletal baby raptor from a Forsaken hunter, with which everyone fell in love after seeing it swirl around in a tiny bonestorm.


	7. The party

Grimwing’s jaw fell on the ground when the Deathlord got off the undead gryphon, and the sound attracted Thalanor, who did a double-take at the leader of the Ebon Blade.

The six death knights guarding the ramp to the Command Room watched him pass with eyes as big as soup plates.

Illana Dreadmoore’s jaw dropped, and she moved quickly to poke at Siouxsie the Banshee.

“What?” she asked irritably, and looked to where the other blood elf girl was pointing with a not so subtle finger.

“Anar’alah…” she mumbled, watching as her superior strode down the ramp towards them in only a teeny tiny breastplate that let his shoulders and abs entirely exposed , armored pants with a waist that started at his crotch, and gloves and boots colored a dirty silver, a shade lighter than his gray skin.

“Wow, this is one damn-well preserved dead elf, no wonder the Illidary leader is all over him. You think his ass is showing, by the way?” Illana whispered, and Siouxsie shrugged, dumbstruck.

“Ladies,” the Deathlord greeted, and they both curtsied without thinking. He grinned. “Thank you,” he said, bowing.

“Um,” Siouxsie mumbled, still too dazed to notice what she had done, “If you don’t mind me asking, milord, how are you going to fight like that without being ripped in half?”

The elf smiled. “Oh, this isn’t for fighting, it’s for Khadgar’s ball, “One Night in Karazhan”. Get someone to fetch Koltira and Thassarian for me please, they’ll be my guard for tonight,” he explained, and left.

“I think he’ll definitely cause an impression,” Illana commented slyly, and Siouxsie shook her head at the Deathlord’s exposed butt-crack. “Poor boys, they’re in for a treat.” she said, and snickered.

* * *

 

 

The Ebon Blade Deathlord’s unbelievably sluttish ensemble had caused a number of accidents in Dalaran, where three mages coming from different directions crashed into each other due to turning around while blinking, a gilnean gentleman started a row with his wife because she waggled her tail when the Ebon Blade entourage passed by and a fire mage accidentally set on fire the novel she was reading (it was, of course, the latest best-seller in the Steamy Romance Novels series, “Got Milk?”).

“My, my, my, whoever raised you really did a fantastic job,” Sylvanas Windrunner said in lieu of a greeting as the Ebon Blade entourage entered Karazhan’s ballet hall, and the Deathlord grinned ear to ear at Nathanos Blightcaller, who squeezed the wine glass in his hand so hard it cracked soundly.

“Why thank you Warchief,” he said congenially, kissing her hand with his blackened lips. “May I introduce you to my personal guard? These are Thassarian and Koltira Deathweaver, my champions.”

Thassarian froze and felt Koltira do the same beside him. The elf had been looking away from Sylvanas and Blightcaller, doing everything he could to go unrecognized, and now… well, Sylvanas’ death glare as her smile dropped said everything anyone should know.

Koltira dry-swallowed and turned around, keeping a carefully blank face, and bowing respectfully in sync with Thassarian.

“Strange… I seem to remember a Koltira Deathweaver working for me,” Sylvanas hissed through a smile so forced Thassarian heard it creak.

“Oh yes, I remember, right before I asked you to release him from his obligations with you so he could take care of some business for Bolvar in Icecrown, wasn’t it? By the way the Lich King sends his,” he cleared his throat in an amused way, “very _warm_ regards.”

The glass finished breaking in Blightcaller’s hand and he took a step forward, but Sylvanas stopped him with a raised hand.

“Yes, of course,” Sylvanas said. “It’s been very nice to see you, Deathlord. I’ll be sure to watch you… as you lead your Order against the Burning Legion.” she said giving him a nod, which he returned.

“The Ebon Blade is most grateful for your attention, Dark Lady. I will also be following your deeds with much interest,” he replied, and they parted ways, Sylvanas nearly dragging an obviously furious Nathanos behind her. The undead man kept turning his head to look back at them, literally shaking with anger.

* * *

 

 

 

Thassarian was very happy he wasn’t able to blush anymore as he and Koltira greeted the Illidari’s bodyguards with a curt nod.

As it went, Kayn Sulfury and Belath Dawnblade were doing a fantastic job of that themselves.

The Illidari Slayer, as they called their leader, was as usual wearing the loincloth, armguards and ornaments that he used in lieu of proper clothing; people were already getting used to the demon hunters and their exposed chests, a necessity for beings with large wings, and they hardly ever used shoes, mostly going barefoot in their leathery feet or at most wearing open-toed leather sandals, but even Illidan had had the habit of covering his thighs, at least.

Not that many people complained; actually many people from all races thought the new Illidary boss a huge improvement to Illidan when it came to looks.

The blood elf tossed his long coppery ponytailed hair over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow as he gave the Deathlord a once-over and made a rotating gesture with his finger to prompt the death knight into turning around for him, and the fel fire behind the scarf that covered his socketless eyes burned brightly.

And then the Illidari boldly felt him up with a hand, from the pants’ criminally low waist up the exposed abs to the breastplate (never had one been so fitting of the name, the damn thing looked more like a woman’s bra than a piece of armor), flicking the metal with a short black claw.

The four bodyguards rolled their eyes in embarrassment.

Some good four hours into the party everyone was either wasted and sick, wasted and crying, wasted and laughing, wasted and talking – mostly complaining about Nomi and one or two of them were definitely contemplating serving the Pandaren cook at their Winter Veil dinners as the main course – wasted singing, wasted dancing (Khadgar and Archmage Modera were floating above everyone, slow dancing to “Honor of the Horde” by the Tauren Chieftains, while a druid twirled to the hard rock in Moonkin form below them) and some were definitely not that wasted but ridiculously horny, as the four bodyguards that had been summoned from the servant’s quarters where they had been stationed and were now very awkwardly guarding the door to one of the guest chambers could attest.

A quite heavy door indeed, against which a weight was suddenly slammed, clanking.

“So you like that I’m hot?” was heard through the door – and indeed demon hunters had such a high internal temperature it was as if they were constantly feverish.

“Good. I like that you refresh me,” was heard after a low, guttural moan and was followed by indistinct whispers.

The death knight and demon hunter guard sets took a couple of steps away from each other in sync.

They heard a surprisingly normal laugh, another, much darker-sounding moan, and then,

“Yes, I can make you warm inside…” was heard, and then the two sets of bodyguards had to resort to averting their eyes from each other, so vexing was the racket coming from the room.

It did give Koltira some ideas, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can see the Deathlord's armor here: http://us.battle.net/wow/en/character/azralon/Exutrankeira/simple   
> and the Illidari Slayer's here: http://us.battle.net/wow/en/character/azralon/Hundredeye/simple


	8. The Kirin Tor Pub Crawl  *Or*  How Darion Mograine and Lady Liadrin realized their jobs aren’t all that different, after all

“Oh Highlord, hi!” The Deathlord called out, waving, and moved through the crowd, dragging Darion behind.

Darion nearly choked at his Commander’s gall, wishing very desperately for a hole to open under his feet so he could please, please, please disappear.

He had been caught by surprise that afternoon coming back from an “easy” mission and immediately drafted to serve as the Deathlord’s bodyguard at the Kirin Tor’s Tavern Crawl, Archmage Khadgar’s latest idea to “promote integration and much needed stress relief to the hard-working Orders of Azeroth’s greatest heroes.”

And the reason he had been caught unawares and was now being rubbed in the paladins’ faces? The Deathlord had apparently “misread” the date on the pamphlet given him at Dalaran and thus Koltira and Thassarian, his usual victims, uh, escorts, were still on holiday in Pandaria.

Darion had considered pretending to be sick or jumping off the Acherus’ landing balcony when he heard the news, but the Deathlord would only revive him again, and good armor was so hard to come by these days.

So Darion just watched with deer in the headlights eyes as the man snarled at them from across the room, Lady Liadrin at his side and shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

‘Oh Light please forgive me, I swear after we get rid of the Legion once and for all I shall never, ever, _ever_ defy thee again, just please don’t let him get us all killed right now…’ Darion prayed as he walked, trying to look as sheepish as he could in his full regalia. 

“ _Death knight_ ,” the Highlord growled in distaste, Lady Liadrin’s hand on her sword hilt.

“Marcus,” the Deathlord greeted. “You look less rumpled than when I last saw you up on Highmountain,” he said, running a finger down the paladin’s tabard.

“You have the nerve to show yourself after”

Darion’s hand went reflexively to his own scabbard.

“After…?” the Deathlord asked with a shit-eating grin. “ _Whatever_ could I have done to you that I wouldn’t be _publicly_ chastised for?”

Highlord Marcus looked like his teeth would crack, but he swallowed and took a deep breath, recomposing himself.

Darion saw a glimmer of hope at the end of the tunnel.

“Nothing,” Marcus growled scathingly. “We will see you around, _Deathlord_ ,” he said, his posture rigid, and left the Legedermaine inn.

“The night is young, I’ll be sure to brush by you. Have a nice crawl!”

They walked around, greeting people in – already – various states of conscience, before Khadgar clapped.

“Ok people, let’s move on to the next spot. Now raise your hands and vote, The Hero’s Welcome or The Filthy Animal first? Left hand for the former, right for the latter!”

* * *

 

 

Hours later, Darion was sitting down dejectedly, nursing a beer of his own, at a table at a Valarjar wake, of all places.

“So… first time for you, eh?” Kayn Sulfury said, across from him.

“Yes,” Darion groaned, trying not to see the commotion unfolding around him.

Kayn nodded sagely.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said companionably, and Darion raised hopeful eyes.

“Really?”

Kayn looked to the side, where the Illidari Slayer and the Deathlord of the Ebon Blade were trying to swallow each other whole, and grimaced.

“No.”

They watched as the Highlord paladin passed by, scowling, his gaze lingering on their bosses’ kiss.

Darion sighed.

* * *

 

 

“ **Mograine!** ”

Darion turned abruptly and nearly jumped back at the sight of Lady Liadrin’s Light-infused hand at his face.

“Where is he? Tell me now, or die by the Light!”

“Um… who?” he asked, befuddled.

She looked quickly to both sides, before leaning towards him.

“The Highlord, you monster! What have you done to him?”

Darion blinked twice before his brain caught up to his ears. In retrospect, maybe he shouldn’t have had that drink right when they had got to Thunder Totem, but seeing Khadgar arrive with Archmage Modera’s bra tied to his forehead had made it a necessity. The damn thing had yellow polka dots.

“I didn’t do nothing!” he exclaimed, putting his hands up. “Kayn!” he called, and the demon hunter turned around.

“You’ve been with us all evening, tell her we didn’t do anything!” Darion begged, trying to refrain from huddling.

“Do anything to who?”

“Oh, spare me the small talk, I saw that… that _Deathlord_ of yours pulling the Highlord away not five minutes ago!”

Kayn frowned, and stared at Darion.

“Wasn’t my boss with yours then?”

Darion nodded enthusiastically.

Kayn turned to Lady Liadrin with a polite smile on his face.

“Well, milady, there you have it, no need for violence. The Deathlord was with the Slayer, there is no reason to be concerned about your HIghlord, you must have got them confuuuooooaaahhh, calm down lady!” he yelled the last as she raised her Light-infused sword at him.

“You Illidari are as evil as these dead monstrosities, I knew it! You will help me find them or I’ll cut you where you stand, may the Light guide my sword!”

Demon hunter and deathknight shared a defeated look before raising their hands.

They searched up and down the Thunder Totem immediate area, until Lady Liadrin made them stop with a hand.

“I can hear the Highlord’s voice!” she said, and a deep moan was heard.

“Uh, oh,” Kayn whispered, and Darion looked at him in alarm.

“It’s coming from that teepee! Move it, villains!” Liadrin exclaimed, poking their backs with her sword into a run.

“I’ll save you, Highlord!” she said as she ran into the tent with them at her heels.

* * *

 

 

“So,” Kayn said, putting another mug of hefty ale in front of Darion, “I guess we should’ve guessed it was bound to happen if, well, we knew he was _that_ Marcus.”

Darion groaned. “I think I’ll rip my own eyes out when this war ends,” he said, rubbing said organs with his hands.

“So will I,” Lady Liadrin said, and shivered. “Holy Light, at least Tyrion isn’t alive to have seen his successor doing _that_.”

“Fraternizing with the, er, well, not really enemy but not really friends of the Light?” Kayn asked, before taking a large pull of his own beer.

Liadrin gave him a most embarrassed look.

“Everyone thought the name was only a… unfortunate coincidence, I mean, some of those stories are, well… but Holy Light…”

“I’ll say, none of the books had anything like that,” Darion said, and the other two stared at him. “What? Amal’thazad has the entire collection and sometimes you just want some light reading, you know.”

“Light reading? There was nothing light in what I saw back there, friend. Actually, I say, that was a hardcore test of, of… determination and bravery. I mean, he was, er, really, really _open_ to the experience, if you know what I mean,” Kayn said, setting his hands about eight inches apart.

“And he was _begging for more_ ,” Liadrin groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Good Light, now I know who’s the ghost that has been moaning at night in Light’s Hope’s crypts…”

Darion pushed his ale towards her, and she drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way Koltira and Thassarian's holiday in Pandaria is next chapter.  
> Oh and Marcus is THE Marcus from the "Steamy Romance Novel" series (it came to me because it's the best explanation for him to have disappeared from the series after "Got Milk?")


	9. The Invasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really should be doing more productive stuff, but damn.  
> Have some action and then meaningless, utterly shameless porn comedy. With some plot. 
> 
> And yes, I've bent the in-game events to suit my version of the lore.
> 
> Oh and by the way Sally's idea IS IN THE GAME, it happened to me when I tried invadi-er, visiting the Acherus with my pally.

 

“Ok boys and girls, you already had a taste of Suramar, time for us to get in there and rip that bitch Elisande a new one!” Nazgrim yelled at the landing pad, and the Ebon Blade cheered in unison.

They had gotten the call from their Deathlord a few hours ago, and were all jumpy with excitement. Finally, after all the damn months of squirmishes and only a couple of actual decent battles, the Ebon Blade was going to bring terror and death over the living united again.

Er.

The living _enemy_ , of course. The Deathlord had made it very clear that if any civilian was killed he’d rip the soldier responsible a new one with the “Can Opener”, the Maw of the Damned’s given nickname.

Considering how long it took for him to get those junkies a permanent source of mana, and the amount of time the Ebon Blade soldiers had spent hunting for ancient mana crystals and stealing arcwine to feed the junkies so they’d stay coherent long enough to be of help in their campaign, Darion thought it was a fair amount of discipline. After all, this would be the first open display of might from the Ebon Blade in over twenty years and after they had sort of blown their reputation with just about everyone but Khadgar – who was desperate enough to accept that sacrifices must be made even by the dead in this time of need.

Right now, as they assembled at the entrance of Suramar – at the front of the combined forces of the Horde and Alliance beside the Demon Hunters, since if there was one thing Lorin the Hundredeyed (as the Illidari Slayer was known, not that anyone called him anything other than Hundred) and Deathlord Exu were wont to do in public more than try to crawl inside each other via various orifices was compete on which Order was the most insanely bloodthirsty and suicidal – Darion was as close to giddy as he had felt when Arthas finally fell.

The things a couple decades behind a desk could do to a man, he mused, squirming on his saddle. He looked to one side to see Trollbane and Sally Whitemane looking like children at Winter Veil morning, expectant looks and nervous giggles included, and at the other to see the Illidari forces on their fel saber mounts, looking as arrogant and fierce as only an army composed entirely of elven Stormrage wannabes could, Kayn Sunfury at the head.

The Illidari second turned his head and acknowledged him with a nod, which he returned, at the same time the thirteen Order leaders rode past everyone hollering at the top of their lungs.

Darion gave the stupidly tiny charging party a double take, breathed “Oh shit” and rose his sword up in the air.

“Horsemen, we ride!” he yelled, and the Orders charged after their – insane, the lot of them, Darion knew – leaders.

* * *

 

 

Koltira and Thassarian had lost, combined, about five pounds of armor already while trying to assist their Deathlord, who was partnered with two insane females, a goblin shaman healer with seemingly unending amounts of mana and a troll druid who would rip apart anything the Maw of the Damned hadn’t hacked to pieces already while changing forms, healing herself and casting sunfire at the same time.

The two bodyguards had already sated their bloodlust a long time ago, and were now basically trying to keep up with their meat-grinding, blood-soaked nightmare of a boss while not dying. Death knights had been created as murdering machines, but Thassarian was actually starting to fear the ferocity with which the demons and soldiers of Suramar alike were being torn apart around them. The druids especially were pouring all the pain and hate from losing so much at the battles for the Emerald Dream out in the most terrifying animalistic ways, ripping with fang and claw every glimpse of fel-tainted flesh they could grab. The demon hunters had been sent to the opposite flank along with the warlocks (who were collecting new Nathrezim slaves like Hearthstone cards) to avoid friendly fire, the monks in tow to heal them.

In the middle throng came the warriors and the chosen by the Light, the paladins and priests, while the rogues spread out through the city to take out select targets and, along with part of the mages, remove as many civilians as possible from the way before the tide of blood reached them.

Suddenly the Deathlord summoned his deathcharger and pushed his way with it towards the side where the Four Horsemen were making mayhem of their own, bodily pulled Darion out of the fray and barked something, before returning to his own front.

Thassarian and Koltira exchanged puzzled looks as Darion called the Horsemen to him and left the fight.

* * *

 

“Archmage, our Deathlord has sent us to aid you, what is your request?”

“Why, I would think he’d come himself, we’re about to invade the Nighthold,” Khadgar said, shocking Darion.

“Hah, he’ll come later, always one to be fashionably late that one,” Nazgrim replied. “For now you’ll have to be content with the Highlord and us, human.”

* * *

 

Two hours of grueling fighting later, the night became day atop the Nighthold bridge, at the same time the last pocket of resistance was broken in the city.

“Shit!” the Deathlord yelled, and rode away to the occupied harbor tower, Koltira on his heels, leaving Thassarian behind with Siouxsie and Thalanor to coordinate the troops.

They met Nazgrim and Khadgar helping each other back into the tower.

“Don’t,” Nazgrim said quietly, bodily holding them back. “You’ll be frozen too.”

“Frozen? Khadgar you ass, what did you do to my Horsemen?” Exu growled, turning on the Archmage.

“Wait, wait, calm down now, they’re still alive, we were fine, it’s just a… a minor setback, I’m sure. Nothing we can’t figure out how to dispel, my friend, and “

“Calm down Exu, it ain’t as bad as it seems!” Nazgrim said hastily after muffling Khadgar, putting himself between the hapless mage and the death knight and motioning swiftly to Koltira.

_“Who?”_

Koltira took two steps to the side and began to run as soon as Nazgrim sighed.

“I swear brother, we would’ve pulled ‘em out of there too, but there wasn’t enough power, I only got out because I was right next to Khadgar, calm down!” Nazgrim warned.

 Koltira had luckily drawn Byfrost while running, so he was able to parry the Deathlord’s attack as soon as he stopped at the exit to the bridge.

“Get outta my way, boy,” the older elf growled, but Koltira shook his head.

“Nazgrim is right, there’s nothing we can do now but retreat and rethink our strategy,” Koltira replied.

“I sent Darion to his doom, I have to bring them back!”

“It’s not just the other Horsemen in there,” Nazgrim said, putting his hand on the Deathlord’s shoulder. “The leaders of the Horde and Alliance forces, Tyrande Whisperwind and a couple Order leaders are frozen in there as well. There is nothing you can do for them inside that accursed bubble, but you can do a lot out here. Starting with helping Kayn hold the Illidari together.”

Koltira’s eyes widened at the sight of his boss' distress, and he lowered his head before walking around them back into the tower, where Thassarian met him, still catching his breath after the dizzying teleport ride from the harbor below.

“What happened?” Thassarian asked, and Koltira grabbed him by the nape, kissing him fiercely.

* * *

 

 

It took the remaining Order leaders three days to find the back entrance to the Nighthold and convince everyone to let them lead the invasion as a small group consisting only of them, Khadgar and a handful of champions.

The bulk of the forces would wait at the Suramar Harbor Tower in order to invade and occupy the extensive complex as soon as the time-freezing spell was lifted, along with joining in the battle against Gul’dan to retrieve Illidan’s body.

And that’s where the Ebon Blade, sans Deathlord and Nazgrim, who were Shadows know where inside the damned Nighthold, were imbued with the responsibility of holding back Kayn Sunfury from teleporting the Fel Hammer over the Nighthold and simply bombarding the whole thing straight to Hellheim.

“I told him we should just destroy the whole city from the sky, but he wouldn’t listen to me!” Sunfury growled dramatically. “We sacrificed everything, and for what? If this fails our own existence is futile!”

“Oh, hold your demonically enlarged ego a little, will you? ‘I sacrificed everything’, you living wouldn’t know what sacrifice is if it farted on your faces!” Corvus huffed, and Kayn paled.

“Yeah, I said it,” he continued. “You elves are always complaining and crying and groaning about what you gave to fight the Legion, but guess what, it was your choice! What about us? I myself died fighting the Lich King in Northrend, defending my Vrykul village, and I didn’t even get to rest, that bitch Arthas raised my bones and put me to work right after the damn crows picked me clean. And now I can’t even hope to die in peace again, what with all the atrocities that human forced me to do! No Halls of Valor for me in death, no Valkyries to take me to Odyn for judgement, not even Hellheim for me to face Helya on my honor, just work, work and more work so you living can stay alive a little longer to keep complaining at my eyesockets! You gave your bodies? So? You still kept your honor and your lives, we’ll spend eternity trying to atone for what we were made to do after our lives were taken away from us!”

“You… you… you know nothing of what it is to have a demon inside you that you must fight every hour of every day!” Kayn whined, and the death knights laughed as one.

“Are you kidding? Sure we don’t have another evil person inside us urging us to kill everything we see, but that’s because we _are_ that evil person! You think the pleasure you feel killing demons is a deviance? We feel pleasure in killing everything, and the more innocent the sweeter it is, you fool. We were made to destroy the living, all the living. Our very souls were carved with the thirst for blood, and we are doomed to atone for all we did, do and will do to sate that thirst for the end of time,” Corvus said, and patted Kayn’s shoulder. “We are the monsters you will never have the courage to be, demon hunter. We were taken what little you still have. Rejoice in having it, instead of whining like children.”

Kayn’s lower lip wobbled.

“Oh no you don’t,” Thassarian said in a horrified tone, and Kayn’s blindfold went damp.

“Oh shit, Corvus, look what you did, you made the poor boy cry!” Siouxsie exclaimed, and slapped his umerus.

“He has no tear ducts, he _can’t_ cry, woman!” Corvus retorted, and Kayn’s lip wobbled even more. “Ooops, my bad, forget I said that, I take it back!” Corvus amended quickly, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture as he took a couple of steps back.

“Damn, it’s gonna be that Children’s Week business all over again,” Winter Payne said from the back, and a dozen death knights groaned.

They were saved from it though, for at that moment the eerie brightness over the bridge faded, setting scores of soldiers of different orders free.

“They did it!” Koltira yelled, and the forces advanced to join with their defrosted comrades.

* * *

 

 

“Kayn, shut your whiny-hole. You,” the Illidari Slayer pointed at Thassarian. “Where are Khadgar and the others?”

The doors opened before Thassarian could answer, though, and Thalyssra and Nazgrim came to greet them.

“Nice to see you in one piece,” Nazgrim said, patting Darion in the back.

“Over MY DEAD BODY will they bring Master Illidan back without me!” they heard the Slayer roar, and watched as he and Thalyssra ran towards a teleport point.

“Well, that could be interesting to be part of,”  Trollbane said, but Nazgrim shook his head.

“Ain’t enough room for everyone up there, and the boss has orders for us. There are still demons everywhere in this place; we’re to finish the clean-up detail and gather as much intelligence as we can. Amal’thazad gonna have a field day with some of the Nathrezim here, too.”

“They still have Gul’dan to kill, how can you be so certain it’s over?” Sally asked, and Nazgrim gave her his best, toothiest grin.

“Dem children up there have put Archimonde himself down, milady. Gul’dan is no match for the likes of them,” he said, and , on cue, an enormous explosion was heard from above, and they all looked up to see the green glow of fel light come up, followed by a great cheer.

* * *

 

 

“Wow. That was quick,” Siouxsie said, approaching them after having distributed the troops to the various tasks at hand.

“Yes, wasn’t it,” Darion commented, scooting over so she could sit beside him on the steps he was perched at, eating and watching as the Illidari bodily shoved away anyone who dared come close to their beloved master.

Illidan and his Slayer were talking to Khadgar, while the other Order Leaders were either being put back together by assorted healers – or in the case of the Ebon Blade Deathlord and the Warlock Netherlord, necrosurgeons.

“Wish I was there to see it, though. Boss’ got all the fun,” Siouxsie said, and Darion chuckled.

“Honestly I can’t say I envy him. Leading the Horsemen is definitely more enjoyable than putting out the fires the Lich King seems wont to start everywhere,” he said, standing up and bagging the paper box Nomi’s horrible food had come in.

“Get away from me you maniac!” Thassarian hollered as he passed by in a rush.

“I will fix that stump of a nose you got this time, Thassarian!” Lord Thorval yelled, and death-gripped Thassarian back to him, a huge pair of pliers on his other hand.

“NooooooO! Ahahahaha!” Thassarian yelled as he was yanked backwards and as soon as the grapple loosened was pulled away again, this time by Koltira on a winged steed.

* * *

 

Two days later, Darion changed his mind.

It was way too early in the morning to be early in the morning, but the Ebon Blade was up, running and in a foul mood, having had zero sleep for the last thirty-six hours or so.

As it happened, the Illidari Slayer realized that with his master back he wasn’t needed to run the Order anymore. Immediately following that realization the elf had concluded that the best and safest activity to spend the excess energy created by too much free time in his hands was to invade the Acherus to molest its Deathlord until their combined bloodlust was sated in a, well, less bloody way.

(The amazing idea Sally Whitemane had to get a sniper mark friendly intruders so the death knights could death-grip and fly them to Dalaran, as a way to discourage unwanted visitors, hadn’t worked very well on the horny demon hunter, who had snapped the chain with his teeth, dropped back on the landing pad and beaten the shit out of whoever crossed his path to the Deathlord’s chambers, where he had nonchalantly yanked the door out of the way and fused it back closed with fel beams after stepping in. )

Considering the Deathlord’s private chambers were Arthas’ old ones Darion had never wanted to occupy, that those were really damn close to the mezzanine overlooking the Acherus’ second floor, and the Deathlord had mounted the blades containing Arthas’ residual soul in the wall above his bed, it was no wonder nobody had slept.

The upper ranks had now resorted to gambling and stuffing their faces with alcohol in the vain hope of passing out despite the screams of the tortured dead practically rattling the entire necropolis

“You know, I’m starting to pity the poor bastard,” Trollbane said, throwing a six at the table and winning the hand.

“What?” Corvus asked, bringing a hand to his skull.

“I said I’m starting to pity Arthas!”

“I’m pitying what’s left of my ears, that’s what I’m sorry for,” Sally muttered, shuffling the deck.

“How can a dead elf have so much stamina?” Koltira wondered from where he had collapsed over the table.

“Maybe he doesn’t and he’s taking a nap while the demon does him?” Thassarian avented, and Amal’thazad shook his head.

“I think the fel energy is fed into the blades by the one who’s, er, receiving. At least that’s how they were doing it when I saw it…”

“Wow,” Thassarian said, blushing a darker gray as a cry in demonic rebounded, followed by more ghostly screams. He snorted at Koltira’s scowl. “Don’t worry, my love, I happen to enjoy being able to sit down.”

It was then that Thalanor burst into the mess hall in a panic run.

“Highlord! Highlord! Stormrage is coming to the Acherus with Khadgar! We’re doomed!”

Darion’s cards fell from his hands in a heap.

“Highlord, what do we do?”

“Do we have time to move the Acherus?” Nazgrim asked, and Thalanor shook his head.

“They’ll be about to land in a minute! Someone has to be there to greet them!”

Everyone stared at Darion.

“What? I’m not the boss anymore, don’t look at me!”

“Oh yes you are, _Highlord_. You’re still the leader of the Four Horsemen and second in command to the Deathlord, go deal with it,” Trollbane said, pushing Darion off his chair with a well-placed boot. “Meanwhile, methinks we could get up there and try to warn them.”

Darion got up and grudgingly ran towards the landing pad, while half the Ebon Blade ran up the back staircase to the living quarters.

* * *

 

 

He was just in time to see Khadgar transform back into his human form and for Illidan, with a terribly smug Kayn Sunfury at his side, to softly land.

“A-Archmage, Lord Stormrage, what an honor…”

“Why hello Darion, how are you? Uh, have we come at a bad time? Are you rebuilding?” Khadgar asked, motioning towards the banging noises.

“We, we, we… yes! You know, the Isles are really damp and all, so we had to replace a few fixtures, we’re taking advantage of this reprieve to do it, uh, Lord Stormrage?”

“Lord Illidan, please. Don’t mind me, just admiring the architecture,” Illidan said, continuing to swiftly glide away.

“Oh! Uh, of course, where did I forget my manners, would you, er, like a seat? Coffee? Tea? Wine? The people of Suramar make great Arcwine, you know,” Darion babbled after him, noticing with increasing worry that

  1. The banging upstairs wasn’t stopping, and
  2. Kayn’s shit-eating grin was getting bigger by the second.



“So Darion, where is the man of the hour? Illidan wanted to meet him especially, after you guys helped the Illidari during the time his Slayer was stuck in that dreadful spell,” Khadgar said amicably.

“Yes, and by the way, have you any idea where our esteemed Slayer might be? Last I saw him he was taking the portal to Dalaran, not four hours after Master Illidan had returned, whatever must’ve been so urgent for him to jump ship so unexpectedly?” Kayn asked, his fanged smile showing his gums.

Darion felt cold sweat start running down his nape. He took a deep breath.

**“ _Achor she-ki!_ ”**

**“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH IT BUUUURRRNSSS STOOOOOOP!”**

Illidan turned on his heels, fel smoke coming out of his nostrils.

“The Legion is _here_!”

“Nonononononono we only have some demons for training on the second floor”

Demonic laughter reverberated through the Acherus.

**“Yes! Almost there! Harder!”**

**“FATHER! JAINA! SOMEBODY! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!”**

“I know that voice! What sort of abomination is this?”

 **“Rotgut!”** Rotgut hollered helpfully.

“Darion are you trying to bring that fiend Arthas Menethil back to life?” Khadgar asked in a menacing tone.

“No!”

Ferocious, obviously undead growling and moaning resounded.

**“Shaza-kiel, f’lbewld!”**

Fel fire poured out of Illidan’s nostrils, and he flew out the landing pad to the balcony above, followed closely by Khadgar, who left after giving Darion a terribly disappointed look, and Kayn, who was giddy like a two-year-old finding an egg on Noblegarden.

* * *

 

 

At the third floor, right next to the mezzanine, the other three Horsemen and the upper rank of the Ebon Blade resumed banging on the Deathlord’s door.

“Damn you rabid elves you’ll get us all killed!” Trollbane yelled in a panic not really compatible with people who supposedly weren’t afraid of death.

“Illidan is here, gezz’no! Shut up!!!” Nazgrim hollered, and kept banging until he realized he was doing it alone. The sulfurous smell of fel energy invaded his nostrils.

“Thrall’s balls, he’s right behind me isn’t he?” he asked, and strafed away from the door, unwilling to look over his own shoulder.

The rest of the Ebon Blade was pressing against the walls, their bones shaking like (literally like, in Corvus’ case) maracas as Illidan Stormrage’s enormous figure approached the fused door, and blew it in with one mighty slap on it.

“So you see, the titansteel can contain the fel energies into the blades, providing a … Lord Illidan, good to see you! Hi Khadgar!”

 As they walked further into the room 12 curious heads popped around the blasted threshold.

“What is the meaning of this, Deathlord?” Illidan growled, and was greeted with an innocent grin by the entirely dressed (Darion was impressed, only one pauldron had been put on backwards) leader of the Ebon Blade.

“Master, come see, they have the most _amazing_ technology! Exu was showing me how they found feeding fel energy into these blades forged from the broken Frostmourne can serve to coax the soul bound in them into giving information, look!” the Slayer of the Illidari, equally dressed (as much as the loincloth he usually wore could be considered clothing) said, and infused a small amount of energy, the blades glowing green before more screaming seeped from it.

Illidan’s brow furrowed. “Kayn said you went AWOL two days ago,” he growled, turning to the aforementioned, whose grin had fallen.

“Well, this certainly looks like work to me… why the bed, though?” Khadgar asked, confused.

“The wha- oh, yes. You see, the most trusted people we have that can perform the ritual necessary to infuse the blades are obviously the demon hunters, what with the warlocks being scheming bas-er, having their own agenda. And the Slayer explained how manipulating fel energies can make one, well,”

“Exhausted, yes, and also I explained that, wretchedly, it can cause our hormones to imbalance, so I requested that we reinforce the locks on the door so that… uh…”

“We weren’t inadvertently intruded upon by anyone in such, er, conditions that might be easily misunderstood,” the Deathlord finished.

“Hot damn, Darion, if Renault had been half as slick as that elf the paladins would’ve eaten out of our hands back then,” Sally whispered. Darion had to agree with her.

“Oh. Yes, of course. That would explain the smell,” Khadgar pondered from behind his handkerchief.

“Hmmmmmmmmmm. May I ask whose soul is it you’re using to test this technique on?” Illidan asked, running a hand over his naked chin.

“Why, the infamous Arthas Menethil’s, of course. Who else could be more suitable?” the Deathlord said with an ingratiating grin, and suddenly Illidan’s pants looked tighter. Kayn Sunfury’s head flopped over his chest in a defeated motion.

“Really? No wonder the voice sounded familiar. Show me how to use this… novelty.”

* * *

 

 

By the end of that week the Ebon Blade had pitched in all their savings to soundproof their rooms. They were saved from losing all their hard-earned gold, as it was, by the Legion deciding to further advance their campaign in retaliation to Gul’dan’s fall, which finally served as good enough reason for the Master of the Illidari to extricate himself from the Deathlord’s rooms.

The gnomes in Dalaran’s engineering shoppe didn’t lose all their business, though, for as soon as the Orders were called to invade the Broken Shore again, they began soundproofing all the surfaces around the Blades of the Fallen Prince’s titansteel sheaths embedded in the wall above the Deathlord’s bed - which sported a brand new mattress, the old one having been kicked over the balcony since nobody dared touch it with their hands, least of all its owner. 


	10. Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is more about my OCs so if you want to skip it, np. A little backstory for them.

Thalanor opened his mouth to debrief the next batch of recruits tasked with watching the perimeter of the Acherus for enemies, when a druid dropped on his head. He sighed from under the tauren.

“What’s the count, Grimwing?”

Grimwing helpfully showed him six fingers, and laughed soundlessly.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get this stupid bovine off of me!”

The recruits hurried to comply, and he stood, dusting off his armor.

“And this is why today, exceptionally, you won’t be flying above the rooftop,” he explained. “Not even I am so sadistic as to force you upon that sight.”

That sight being the Slayer and the Deathlord having a prosaic picnic lunch on the rooftop. Which would be fine – strange, after all the Acherus was still the Acherus – but fine, had not the Slayer suggested that the Deathlord could use some sunlight on his ashen skin and promptly taken off his own poor excuse for clothing.

One thing had led to another and, before you know it, people started falling from their mounts on top of innocent death knights who were honestly just trying to do their daily chores, the first occurrence being Thassarian, who was on watch duty, stretched out to catch a better look and fell headfirst on Koltira, who first hurried him to the necrosurgeons and then proceeded to beat him into a pulp for looking at other naked elves when the second person dropped from the sky and actually explained what was causing the sudden rain of people.

Darion Mograine had looked at the beating while passing, asked Thalanor what was going on, and immediately decided that the Broken Shore needed him more than the Acherus did at the moment; even if that meant he was going to spend the day with Minerva Ravensorrow’s constant chattering.

* * *

 

 

“I was the first, you know.”

Exu’s eyes widened. “Uh oh,” he thought.

“The first?”

“Yes,” Hundred said, stretching his wings back so they’d support his weight on their talons.

“I was a paladin on Kael’thas’ service when we moved to Outland. I had lost my family twice. First time back in the Sundering, my parents served Queen Azshara and were worked to death by the demons,” he said, and sighed. “The second time, I had married a friend. We didn’t love each other but were both orphaned and alone; all we wanted was a family, so we decided to make one together. Am I bothering you?”

The Deathlord shook his head in silence.

“So after the Scourge hit we followed Kael’thas to Outlands with our three children. My oldest was already a scout, the other two were in training. My boy would be a priest, my youngest girl wanted to become a mage like her mother. We were travelling through the Hellfire Peninsula, the Fel Reaver got the two youngest and my wife. We couldn’t do anything but run; the damn thing just jumped from behind a hill and squashed half the caravan. Three days later, my oldest killed herself.”

“She thought it was her fault.”

“Yes. I went insane with rage, to the point the Light abandoned me.  Later by myself I ran into a Dreadlord and all my hatred focused on him. I threw my hammer at him and down he came like a ton of bricks. I jumped on his chest and hammered that ugly head into mush. And then I ate it. His eyes, his brain. Drank his blood, pulled a dagger and carved his chest, hammered at his ribcage, ripped his heart out and ate the whole fucking thing. I wanted to destroy the damn demon, and more than that, I wanted to defile it. I wanted whatever found that corpse afterwards to know there was something out there to be feared. Me,” the demon hunter said with cruel satisfaction.

“When I got back to camp, the demon’s flesh was trying to get out of my body any way it could. I held on and yelled at it to stay down, that nothing it did would save it from me. Lord Illidan came near me as if haunted. He said since I had done what I did I had to deal with the consequences, or die,” he continued, and smiled, his fangs flashing dangerously. “And he cast a spell pushing me to confront the demon before it took over my body. I spent three days stuck in my mind with him. He showed me all the Legion did, all it was doing, all it would do, trying to make me despair and give in, but all I thought was that one of those monsters was now mine, and it would pay for what the Legion did for as long as I lived. When I woke after beating five kinds of shit out of him, I was this. Except for the eyes, though. Those I lost the first time I used Fel Beam. Burned them right off the sockets; Lord Illidan was so disappointed. He tatooed the runes on my skin himself, demon blood just as his carvings. And later when we were already in the Black Temple he started to make others like me. Others who hated the Legion enough to choose to be this.”

The Deathlord pulled him to straddle his lap.

“So you’re not into this war to save the world?”

The Slayer snorted.

“You want the truth or a pretty lie? No, I’m not in this for Azeroth or for anyone except myself. Destroying the Legion won’t bring my family back, won’t turn me back to who I was before. I am what I am now, and for the record, I like it. I didn’t sacrifice anything like Lord Illidan and the others did. I took, instead of giving, and I’m still taking. Even when you fuck me, I take pleasure that the demon is disgusted and ashamed by what we do, just like you take from the pain I make your Arthas feel,” he said, and rocked his hips.

The dead elf smiled evilly.

“Get on your hands and knees and let the demon come out.”

* * *

 

Sally Whitemane got off the winged steed with a horrified look on her face.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” she said, before bending over the railing and losing her lunch.

“What happened?” Thorval asked as he passed by, and she pointed upwards.

The sound of bursting blood boils was heard, along with roaring and thrashing enough to shake the Acherus.

“Damn it am I going to have to reattach his dick again?” Thorval muttered as he went on his way.

* * *

 

“I was a rogue back home. Had my own crew and everything, for the longest time. Extorsion, murder, thieving, you name it, I did it. I never knew who my parents were or what a family was, nor did I care. But the nobs offered a cartload of gold for whoever killed Arthas Menethil after the destruction of the Sunwell, and a cartload of gold is a cartload of gold, especially when nobody else around you has any money,” the Deathlord said. “So I went for it.”

Hundred gaped at him, and sat up, crossing his legs and leaning forward.

“You’re bullshitting me.”

“Nope, I planned for a month, took two more to get the supplies I needed, then I stalked after that motherfucker up and down Lordaeron, watching his movements, what he ate, what he drank, when he did both and who served him, because the bitch was alive, he was never raised like us undead. The best part was that he was attended by a cultist, and that was the perfect disguise – I couldn’t very well pretend to be human with these gorgeous features, you know.”

The Slayer slapped his arm.

“So I waited a couple days more and caught the guy as he went to fetch clean water for the bastard’s dinner. Then went to fetch Arthas’ food – bitch actually ate what the cultists ate, which contrary to popular belief was potatoes, beans and such, since all the meat was contaminated. The poison was slow to digest and quick to act when it got in the blood, so he’d die quietly and I could get his head off as proof.”

“And?”

“He actually ate the fucking food. I was so damn giddy. It would take about an hour, so I had to wait… and then one of the ghouls went astray and jumped me and the cultists who were around the fire. It happened sometimes at night when Arthas got sloppy with the mind control thing, and, well…” Exu pointed at his ears.

“And? How did Arthas survive if he was already poisoned?”

“Oh, that? Well, bad things always come in threes, right? He had his alchemists reverse-engineer the poison left over on the grubs he took off of a potato. Never seen people work so fucking fast, bitch was breathing fire, he was so mad. I never laughed so hard in my life, at my shitty luck, the people running around like headless chickens, Arthas’ panicked screeches. The death knights’ faces were hilarious, they could hardly hide their amusement,” he explained, and smiled at the memory. “But then they got him the damn antidote and Arthas shoved Frostmourne down my throat. Did you know if you push a sword down someone’s throat slow enough and don’t hit the heart with it they can stay alive for hours after it reaches the other end? It’s got something to do with the steel blocking the blood from gushing out or something,” he said in a pensive voice. “Anyways, fucker decided since I was cunning enough to nearly kill him I was worth having around as a death knight, and that’s mostly the reason I enjoy torturing him so much.”

“So you _are_ a criminal.”

“Not anymore I'm not. Or wait. Hmmm… well, ehhh…” he mumbled, looking pensive. 

The Illidari Slayer laughed.


	11. The Farce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the DK mount quest, but actually telling my version of how it happened to my Deathlord.  
> And Darion's got a few new information he'll have to deal with.  
> Enjoy my headcanons.

“ **Amal’thazad!** ” the Lich King’s voice reverberated through his skull, making him drop the priceless vials he was carrying.

“Shadows damn it…”

“ **I heard that!** ”

Amal’thazad wished very hard to still have eyes so he could roll them up into his skull.

“ **I heard that too! Where the hell is your Deathlord?** ”

“He’s probably down at the shore doing whate- wait, how do you NOT know where he is?”

“ **Er. Uh. I have no interest in his every movement! Call him up here immediately and put up some runes at the roof so he can see me, we got urgent matters to discuss.** ”

Amal’thazad’s head tilted in wonder, but since he’d only be bothered to hell and  back until he did the Lich King’s bidding, he moved on to fetch his arcane tools.

“Oh Thalanor! Thalanor!” he called, waving a bony arm as he passed him. “Will you be getting down there soon? Please tell the Deathlord to come up to my lab, Bolvar wants to”

“ **Lich King** ”

“Excuse-me, what”

“ **Lich King! You will address me by my royal title, minion! I haven’t been wearing this stupid hat and freezing my balls off for twenty-odd years in this ice throne in the middle of nowhere for you to go ahead and use my birth name!** ”

Thalanor stifled a snort at Amal’thazad’s fed-up countenance.

“Fine… Please tell the Deathlord that **THE LICH KING** wants to see him so I’m getting the place ready for them to meet,” he said and left.

A couple of hours later, already at Deliverance Point, a weary-looking, gore-smacked Deathlord approached Thalanor.

“What.”

“Deathlord, Amal'thazad has requested your presence at Acherus. He has been in contact with the Lich King, and making improvements on the citadel. For his benefit, or yours, I know not.” he said with a smirk. “Said it was urgent too, boss.”

The Deathlord groaned. “I come up expecting a break after damned Maiev throws me in the middle of another hundred demons…” he grumbled while casting a Death Gate and stepping through it.

“ **The Helm of Domination shows me many things, Deathlord.** **I have seen a vision.** **Thousands of undead, marching through the far reaches of Northrend, in search of a great power.** **Yet when I reach out through the cold tendrils of endless ice, I sense nothing there.  
****Go now, to the far north of Icecrown, and I will show you what I have seen.** ”

“You want me to just up and go all the way up to Icecrown to see your vision as if there was _nothing_ to do here? Really?”

Bolvar seethed. “ **Yes, _REALLY_. Now get your pansy ass moving, I’ll make it worth your while,** ” he growled before disappearing.

Exu took the teleporter down.

“Siouxsie, you’re in charge up here. Tell Darion to deal with the shit down there. Amal’thazad, see if you can get, I dunno, a tinfoil hat or something so His Royal Brattiness doesn’t keep fucking us up with yet another faction, will ya?”

“You think he’s gonna get us in trouble again?” Amal’thazad asked fearfully.

“When does he not?” Exu answered, pulling the wormhole generator out of his pack and going to the landing pad.

Grimwing and Thalanor quickly dragged the winged steeds away while everyone else ran inside.

“If he contacts you again, don’t do anything he tells you until I come back!” the Deathlord yelled as the wormhole to Icecrown opened and sucked him in.

* * *

 

“ **Arthas never found the prize he sought, Deathlord.** **It is ours by right. The dragons must know where the resting place of their kin resides.** **Find a member of the bronze flight, the tenders of history, do not be merciful**.”

“Light damn me, no wonder he always wants me to come alone… ‘it is iirs bii riit’.” he mimicked with his hand. “Fucking Bolvar!”

The Deathlord bitched all the way to Wyrmcrest.

* * *

 

 

“Hey short stuff, I need to know about some big-ass pile of dragon bones lost way up on Icecrown. Long story short, I don’t like to play errand boy, so spill it,” he asked the bronze dragon vendor, Trizormu.

“I don’t know nothin’. Go away, undead.”

“Will it help if I buy something?”

Trizormu scowled at him, and Exu lifted him by the neck.

“What is wrong with you tiny people and not responding to amicability? Seriously, it grinds my gears,” he said, the tendril of shadow shaking the gnome back and forth before dropping him on the ground and giving him an exasperated look.

“Ok, ok! Gosh, calm down mister! Tariolstrasz is the one you wanna talk to, he’s right outside.”

“See? Isn’t it much better when we’re nice to each other? Have a nice day.”

Outside, the red dragon looked at him warily.

“Hi, how are you doing? So the Lich King – the new, not the old one, thank goodness – told me to come by and ask about this big dragon skeleton up on Icecrown and”

The dragon transformed and kicked him out.

“Ow…”

“ **The reds know something... they hide their secrets in the Ruby Sanctum beneath Wyrmcrest. A record of their history must lurk somewhere in this sanctum.** **Spare who you will, or slay them all. The choice is yours.** ”

“Why the fuck do I find that hard to believe?” Exu grunted as he extricated himself from the mound of snow, and called for his deathcharger, Biggus.

The undead horse nearly fell on its back neighing at its master.

“Yeah right I’mma send _you_ next time instead, jackass…”

The Ruby Sanctum had been entirely rebuilt after Krosus’ tragic death. After sneaking in, Exu summoned Biggus again, and began searching for whatever the Hellheim Bolvar wanted. Must be a book or something, though Exu honestly had no idea what sort of imbecile would leave paper around a crèche of fire-breathing toddlers.

Now, the harsh truth about dragons is this: as intelligent and sentient as they are, they are usually crappy breeders. Many, MANY whelps die in their infancy from a number of ailments, from bursting hiccups to (literally) explosive diarrhea. And the Red Flight believed very much in the cycle of life taking care of their infants’ remains, so the whole place was littered with whelp and dragon carcasses in various stages of decomposition.

That was the environment where Exu set his deathcharger loose to start climbing the rocks in search of possible nooks or crannies where a book might have been secreted.

His carnivore, as all were, deathcharger.

He had just grabbed the Codex Draconomicus when a huge shadow covered the sun. He turned back to see Biggus calmly munching on a whelp, a tiny wing hanging out of its mouth, and the entire Red flight poised to attack behind it.

His eyes widened.

“Biggus, no! Bad horse, bad! Put the whelp down!” he yelled, running to the horse, who raised its head in confusion, noticed the red mob closing in, looked back at him while guiltily swallowing the rest of his meal, and poofed back to the spirit world.

The Deathlord laughed weakly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said that whelp was already dead, would you?”

The biggest dragon, a fearsome nanny, roared at him.

“Oh, bugger,” he said, and ran.

Much has been said and studied about the nature of the Death Knight blood thirst: that it was driven by animal desire, as in lust, or by anger at the living, or hatred at life itself, or simple lack of empathy, and that it is uncontrollable, like an addiction.

None of that is true. Death Knights can actually divert their surplus energy to less destructive activities and are entirely capable of empathy.

The blood thirst has nothing with not being able to put themselves in their attackers’ shoes, but all with understanding that, in all truthfulness, death wasn’t the worst that could happen to someone; and also analytically understanding that if they were in said attackers’ shoes they’d indubitably die, just like someone who tries to battle a siege engine with their bare fists is technically a squashed corpse who hasn’t realized its condition yet.

So when the dragons didn’t take the hint that the Deathlord was running away in an attempt to preserve their lives and dropped down on him, they were slaughtered.

It took about an hour of fighting, but in the end of it, all there was left of the Red Dragonflight’s future were scattered corpses.

“ **You are empty inside… just like me.** ”

Exu sat down hard on the blood-drenched floor, and covered his face with his trembling, grimy, blood-drenched hands.

He lowered them as he heard a tiny whimper, saw a whelp twitch to his side, and carefully picked it up.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as the little dragon took his last breath.

“ **Do you know why the red dragonflight seeks to prevent us from finding our prize? The bones of a great red dragon teem with the essence of life, even decades after its passing. You will consume this life essence, blight it, and turn it to undeath.** **And then you will raise a dragon.** ”

“Our prize? No, Bolvar. _My_ prize. _My_ dragon, you son of a bitch; you said you’d make it worth my time.”

“ **Very well. If you succeed, it shall be yours.** **Fly now into the north. Find this glacier, and your destiny.** ”

The Deathlord rose and carefully, keeping his head empty as he had been taught so long ago in Pandaria, laid the tiny corpse inside his satchel before leaving the Ruby Sanctum.

* * *

 

 

The fog over the ocean at the north of Icecrown was thick, thick enough that he could hardly see his winged steed Diccus’ snout.

“ **Continue north, Deathlord. Into the Blizzard.** **And hold tight to your reins.** ”

Diccus actually neighed incredulously as he was spurred forward.

“Yeah, I know. By the Sunwell, I know. But I need to see how far this goes, my friend,” Exu muttered through his teeth.

They flew on, until after what seemed an eternity they found the icy shore, and landed.

“ **It is here. I can feel it. Your supplies have likely frozen. I sense feral undead, buried in the ice. It seems the time has come to test your will. Of course… should you fail to survive, know that I shall claim Acherus for my own. Arthas may have sought revenge on the citadel, but I have... other plans,** ” Bolvar said into Exu’s mind.

The Deathlord ran to claim his prize.

* * *

 

The next day, the death knights saw their Deathlord return through his Death Gate on the second floor of the Acherus, armor ragged, somber faced, and summon an enormous undead dragon.

“This is your home now, Kyranastraz. Up there is Voragosa. She was a Blue once. Go with her,” he whispered hoarsely, and the dragon flew up to meet his undead kin.

He then opened the clasp holding his heavy cape, and a tiny undead head popped out, bright red eyes looking around curiously.

“This is home,” Exu told the whelp. “Those are Voragosa’s babies up there. Go play with them, all right?”

The whelp turned around and licked his face, before flying away.

A half hour later, the Deathlord passed through the hallways on his way to the landing balcony, his stance a silent warning to the others to keep away. He summoned his winged steed and flew without a word.

* * *

 

Three days passed.

“So. Is anybody going to do anything?” Sally Whitemane asked the others around the command table.

“Where is he anyway? I mean, fine, Bolvar’s missions are a pain in the ass, but he never came back so pissed, not even with that monumental screw-up at Light’s Hope,”  Koltira said.

“People are starting to ask,” Thassarian said.

“How about the Slayer? Maybe the boss is venting up his skirts,” Corvus asked.

“Nope. I asked Marius the other day if they had heard anything around the Fel Hammer, he said the Slayer didn’t even know he was back yet,” Thalanor said, and frowned at their look. “What? Marius’ got that thing with the undead warlock, figured he might understand the need to avoid gossip.”

“Naz, you got any ideas?” Thorval asked, but the orc shook his head.

“I’ve been around all the usual suspects: whorehouses, bars, even Elisande’s private,” he coughed, “quarters. Nothing. And I’ll say, it was no easy feat, going all those places without raising suspicion. I had to do things…” he shook his head in disbelief, “things I hope to never, ever have to do again.”

Of course, as bad things always came in threes, a crystal ball popped up right on top of the table, Khadgar’s face inside it.

“Champions! Would you care to explain what is your Deathlord doing in my sewers?”

Everyone did a double-take.

“Wait you fommf mmf mfhmmffff?” Darion was tackled and muffled before he could finish the sentence, and Thoras quickly sat on him, smiling at Khadgar’s visage.

“Uh, no, Archmage, he left for lunch a couple of hours ago and didn’t come back, is everything all right?”

“Mf mmmf, mf hnph…”

Khadgar raised an angry eyebrow.

“Well, it would be if he wasn’t drinking himself into becoming combustible at the Cantrips and Crows! The fire brigade was called to evacuate the whole place before he finds the inn’s stash of Dragon P.I.E.!”

“Isn’t that the beer that makes you breathe…”

“ _Fire_ , yes. So you can imagine what that would do combined with the amount of grain alcohol the rogues told us he imbibed the last couple… of… **DAYS** ,” Khadgar growled the last through his teeth. Now get your boss out of there before he blows the bottom out of my city!”

As Khadgar’s crystal ball vanished, Nazgrim got out from under the table and Trollbane out of Darion’s back, allowing him to get up.

“Thrall’s balls, never heard of him getting like this before,” Nazgrim said.

“You’re his friend, why don’t you go see what’s going on?” Koltira prompted him.

“No, kid… this isn’t a job for a friend, it’s a job for a Highlord,” Nazgrim replied, and they all looked at Darion.

“What makes you think he’ll talk to me?” Darion asked. “I was raised again because Bolvar said so. If his beef is with him, then”

“Have you honestly felt Bolvar’s presence in your head since he raised you back, though?” Sally interrupted. “Because, to be really honest with you, I have never felt any presence since I was raised,” she whispered quietly. “I only hear him when the Deathlord is with us.”

“Me neither,” Thoras said.

“Wait wasn’t it only him who felt the Lich King like that?” Nazgrim asked in confusion.

“No, all of us who were raised can feel him once in a while. Sometimes it’s like someone in the room with you, but you look around and no one’s there. He can’t control us, but when he wants to, he’s just _there_ ,” Thassarian said quietly, and looked at Darion, who looked stunned. “Right Highlord?”

“When I was dead this time… Bolvar spoke to me, telling me what he told you all… it was that presence, that _will_ , as strong as Arthas’, and all I felt was the duty being imposed on me… remember how it was?”

The older death knights nodded.

“But there was something… weird. I thought it was because it was Bolvar, but… I felt detached from what was going on. I felt like I was watching someone else be compelled, only that someone was… me? In my body? I don’t know, it’s so hard to explain. All I know was that after I felt the Lich King’s presence recede, I became myself again. And… I never felt Bolvar’s presence again, since. Or anyone’s really…” he finished, staring down at his hands.

Thassarian laid a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“I think, Highlord, that you and the Deathlord need to talk.”

* * *

 

 

Darion chose to fly instead of taking the portal to Dalaran, one because he wanted to avoid as much tumult as possible and two because he wanted to be clear-headed when dealing with his currently volatile (in a very strict sense if Khadgar was right) boss.

He rode in through the not-so-secret flying entrance to the sewers, hoping the waterwashed mage living at the end of it had left the grate loose again.

The sewers were deathly quiet, in contrast with the everyday hubbub of the poor. Darion dismissed his winged steed and let his eyes get used to the darkness before moving forward towards the Cantrips and Crows.

As he got closer, the stench of alcohol got stronger and stronger, and drunk rats and cockroaches were snoring on the floor.

“I always suspected this was why he branded me,” the Deathlord’s voice echoed as Darion stepped on the boardwalk leading to the inn. “Those goody two-shoes types, like you, always underestimate adventurers. To you guys we’re uncouth, greedy thugs who will do anything for a reward. Unremarkable. Easy to fool. Disposable,” he growled.

Darion approached carefully. The elf was wearing only a white tank top and leather breeches, sitting on the floor of the dais leading to the small dock below, one leg bent and the other stretched out, his back to the shanty inn’s wall, a bottle of spirits in his hands. His weapon was nowhere to be seen.

“Yeah, I left it at the Acherus.”

Darion stopped cold.

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know you didn’t.”

Dread filled Darion’s body, and the hair on his nape stood on end.

“Why can’t I feel you in my mind, then?”

“Because it’s you who are in my mine, Darion,” the Deathlord sighed. “You and the other three. And everyone I raise. Have you ever met the Pandaren?”

Darion nodded.

“Only a few though, in Draenor.”

“Sit down, boy, you’re making me jittery, by the Sunwell.”

Darion did as he was bid, stretching on the floor beside him.

“The Pandaren believe in things like every life being connected, and the power of meditation, and such. They’ve been communing with the spirits of Nature for a damn long time, with that monk hocus-pocus of theirs,” Exu said. “Long story short, I learned how to infuse life energy into something untainted, and I implanted it in my body, made it part of me, a protected part where my will can be kept safe from the Lich King’s. And everyone I raised, I gave a little bit of it. And that bit of my will blocks the Lich King from entering your minds, but allows your thoughts to echo into mine.”

Darion’s jaw fell. “There is something _alive_ inside of you? Of _me_? How?”

The Deathlord waived the bottle dismissively.

“Don’t worry, it’s encapsulated, like a pearl or some other tumor. Sorry I needed to keep it secret, but you guys were to be my collateral, you see… for when Bolvar tried to ditch me, like the two-timing motherfucker I knew he’d turn into.”

Darion could only stare mutely at him.

“He wants the Acherus for himself, but he knows I’m in the way of that happening, if not why. I was supposed to get his damn red dragon and die, either by being killed by the ghouls feasting on the dragon’s life energy, or by the process of turning the life energy inside out to raise the dragon,” Exu sneered darkly. “All this time it was exactly what I feared. He’s using the fight against the Legion to gain strength by driving us into making more death knights and bolstering an army. And the Four are, again, supposed to exist only to lend him even more power and to serve as his generals,” he took a swig of the bottle.

Darion shook his head to attempt at clearing his mind.

“But… why would Bolvar need an army of his own? He’s the jailor of the damned, as he said himself, tasked to keep the scourge at bay in Northrend. Who would he battle?”

The Deathlord gave him a tired look.

“The living, Darion. It’s always about trying to wipe out the living. He said he’s empty inside, and I believe that yes, he is. The Helm of Domination wasn’t just where Kil’jaeden put Ner’zhul’s mind into, I think. I believe it’s got a will of its own, something deliberately put in there to make whoever occupies it obey the command to scour the living. When Arthas died, I was sure they’d destroy it. I knew that with its destruction we’d all probably die; the Ebon Blade, the Scourge, and the Forsaken too. But then Bolvar took it – why? I don’t know. Tirion probably did, but he’s dead now,” he sighed. “It was one reason for me to agree with Bolvar for once. Tirion was the only witness to what happened that day, after Arthas died. With him raised, and free, maybe we could understand.”

“I came down here because I was so, so angry, Darion. Angry at Bolvar, angry at that damn helm, angry at the red flight, angry at myself – I made a royal mess at the Ruby Sanctum and let´s hope there are a few more red whelps around somewhere else or fuck, Alexstraza gonna get in line to kill us – angry at the Legion, angry at every fucking thing and I didn’t want to lose it and just turn the Acherus on his ass, too many of us are still under his influence. So I came down here to empty my head and ‘meditate’ the anger off,” he finished, raising the bottle and taking another gulp.

Darion felt woozy with the alcohol fumes and the shock of the conversation. He also felt betrayed, in many fundamental senses.

“Bolvar was supposed to be different,” he said very quietly. “He was a true hero, a noble paladin. A good man. He sacrificed everything for the good of Azeroth. He’s not Arthas or Ner’zhul. How can I be sure you’re not lying to me?”

“You can’t. Because I can’t and won’t make you trust me. Trust is a double-edged sword. It both helps us do what we believe into and blinds us to who we’re doing it with. But the day will come when the Ebon Blade will choose to stay with me, or go to him. And at least you four will be able to make that choice freely. Until then, no one can know, Darion. Our task is to continue fighting the Legion, and my own is to keep playing the fool and survive whatever the Lich King throws at me until he makes his definite move.”

Darion’s throat felt dry, and he accepted the bottle the Deathlord offered him, drinking with a grimace at the strength of the alcohol.

“Khadgar wants his sewers back,” Darion said after a long while.

The Deathlord chuckled.

“What, he thinks I’mma set fire to everything?”

“Would you light a match in this air? The vermin are drunk, Deathlord. I saw a blind mouse singing in the gutters.”

“Yeah, I noticed the lights went out but thought maybe I had passed out or something. Wait, am I awake then?”

Darion shot him an incredulous look.

“We’ve been down here talking for hours and you thought you were dreaming?”

The elf’s eyes widened drunkenly.

“Well, I am outrageously drunk, you know. Who else knows besides you and Khadgar?”

Darion’s body shook with silent laughter.

“No one. Well, Marius, that demon hunter with the undead warlock. Thalanor asked if you weren’t, uh, visiting the Fel Hammer or something with the Illidari Slayer. And the rogues, they recognized you and told Khadgar to get you out when the fire brigade had to intervene.”

“Hmph,” Exu rubbed his hands on his face and scratched his head. “Do you remember all I said to you?”

“Well, yes.”

“Good,” the Deathlord said, and stood up with some difficulty. “Remind me when Bolvar comes for my head, I’m starting to forget already. Let’s go home.”

He summoned a Death Gate, and, after another hearty gulp from the bottle, Darion followed.


	12. Deceiver's Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap this turned out big. Like, huge. I sort of edited it but since my wife is dragging me away now please forgive me and point any mistakes in the comments, I'll fix them as soon as I can.

“Get weady bitcheeeeeeef, ‘m goin’ in!” the Deathlord yelled as he jumped off his goblin glider after killing Mephistroth at the top of the temple’s tower.

Darion gave the elf a tired look, to which he got a toothless smile in return.

Darion sighed, and stretched his hand to grab the teeth the Warlord of the warriors had kindly collected.

“Better fix that ‘un first, laddie, no matter what ‘e says,” the dwarf said, guffawing as he left to join his own forces.

“Lord Thorval?” he called, and pushed his mauled boss over to the necrosurgeon. “Please fix this before he goes in and the enemy laughs to death.” He looked to the side where the injured Illidari, with those who hadn’t run in yet, fawned over their victorious Lord Illidan, and rolled his eyes.

“They are sort of… overenthusiastic, aren’t they?” Thalanor said from behind him.

“Well, he _has_ an ego the size of Azeroth,” Darion commented tiredly. They had been fighting non-stop for the last three weeks to reach this siege point and had just fallen back, a heavy explosion in the temple’s atrium throwing the Armies of the Legionfall in disarray, with heavy casualties and a huge-ass fel demon blocking the way.

The Illidari cheered when Khadgar and Illidan proposed the Order leaders to charge in with a small contingence to get rid of the monstrosity that waited inside

“What do they feed these people?” Alonsus Faol asked as he passed Darion by, wiping his hands on a rag. The Shadow priests were the Death Knights’ most favored healers, for obvious reasons, even if their spells weren’t exactly the height of efficacy - since Life magic tended to leave bothersome side effects, such as mushroom and lichen growth, and Holy magic simply burnt their skin off while healing, which hurt worse than death itself.

“Hardtack and tears, going by how much they cry about sacrifice,” Koltira grunted. He had been hit especially hard earlier, nearly losing an ear – and considering how sensitive elves were about these appendages, his bad mood was understandable.

The Deathlord came forward, still buckling a new breastplate, the other having fallen apart as soon as Thorval put his hands on him.

Darion opened his mouth to discuss the strategy, but the elf put a gauntleted finger over his lips.

“Here’s how we’re going to do this: me and the other meat shields are going to run in and kill everything we can. We’re thirteen, it should be enough. After we get enough room cleared you guys go in and establish a base, rinse, repeat. Remember Icecrown Citadel? Like that, except no idiots trying to do more than they can and replenishing fucking Arthas’ army,” he explained in a low voice, and when Darion tried to reply the elf pulled his lips closed and forced him to nod. “Say ‘Yes Deathlord, we’ll be good little Ebon Blade and let you heroes do the heroing’. That’s a good boy,” he finished, walking away quickly to where the other Order Leaders had congregated.

Darion turned around to gather his troops, a weight settling in his chest.

* * *

 

Later they were setting camp in the recently cleared atrium while, again, the Order leaders were battling Sargeras’ lieutenants elsewhere, sans the current High Priest, who had been nearly barbecued alive by the fel fire projectiles the demon Goroth threw at her, and who had been replaced by (in Light’s supreme act of poetic justice) Calia Menethil, of all people.

The entire temple shook from time to time, causing heavy cursing from the engineers shoring up the flooring over the enormous hole discovered under the temple, from where an army of murlocs had emerged and been defeated by the troops while their leaders were busy with the demons guarding one of the adjacent wings.

“Light, I hate murlocs,” Thassarian growled as he passed by, a huge chunk bitten off his armor, leaving his left leg exposed. "But at least we cleared the passage up to that... that huge thing blocking the way forward."

“Why the hell aren’t _they_ fighting?” Koltira asked in the same tone, stopping next to Darion and nodding over to where Khadgar, Velen and Illidan were standing. “Seems easy to be ‘coordinating’ support back here while the Orders give their leaders to be slaughtered.”

Darion looked around the enormous space and recognized Koltira’s angry look in many of the other Order members. In the year since the Legion invasion and the calling of Azeroth’s greatest unsung heroes to lead their peers into battle those adventurers had earned the respect and loyalty of said peers and repeatedly proven their worth.

A couple dozen yards to the left of the Ebon Blade support team Darion saw Magatha Grimtotem swallow back a tear and turn away with a dark look on her bovine features. The shaman had been one of the Orders that had taken the most to unite and rally; Thrall stepping down as their leader had been an enormous blow to them, and having a goblin – a race whose rank amongst the shaman had been heavily disputed, seen as they were basically atheists with a scientific interest in the Elements – raise up to wield the Doomhammer and finally bring them all together, including the hated Grimtotem, had been a delicate and nigh impossible task.

Only the rogues had been allowed to move about the temple while the heroes forced their way into the structure, checking for traps and setting their own while gathering intelligence for the others, and even they were grim-faced as they came and went.

One of them came up stealthily behind Darion and pushed a piece of paper in his hand. He moved a few feet away to read it, and motioned for Trollbane and Nazgrim to meet him behind a pillar.

“Something came up and I need the two of you to watch over things. The mages will help with doubles, but for Azeroth’s sake don’t let Illidan and the demon hunters get close or they’ll notice.”

Nazgrim and Trollbane both sighed in unison.

“About time, no offense but I wasn’t looking forward to having a human as boss,” Nazgrim whispered so low Darion had to strain his hearing to acknowledge it. Trollbane nodded, and grabbed his forearm in a warrior’s greeting.

Darion stayed put as they left until Aethas Sunreaver appeared in front of him and cast a spell to copy Darion’s appearance, giving him a small vial of invisibility potion and leaving to join the Ebon Blade in his place.

A few moments later, the rogues released a wave of previously captured imps over the atrium, and Darion took advantage of the confusion to take the potion and move with the other five rebellious Order underlings.

He took the path he had been ordered precisely: three steps forward, fifty to the right, four left, thirty left again, and stopped to wait for the potion to stop dulling his senses.

“This plan better hold or the High Priest’ll eat me liver for puttin’ meself in danger, twas a struggle ta send Calia in her place till she recovers,” he heard a female dwarfish voice mutter, and blinked, seeing four small copies of Moira Thaurissian dancing in front of his eyes.

A distinctively bovine huff sounded next to her, and Magatha’s form became visible next to her, along with Karenthad Ebonlocke’s and, surprisingly, Kalecgos’.

Darion shook his senses back into alertness right as Garona Halforcen opened a door for them, motioning for them to move forward into a stairway.

Kalecgos snorted quietly.

“Maybe this is what is like to be a ‘ragtag band of nobodies’. I wonder if they feel as inadequate all the time,” he whispered.

“There are a huge number of angry spirits, arcane elementals and other assorted crap in the way all over the building,” Garona said. “Enough to mow an entire battalion, let alone an odd-dozen heroes. We can’t just storm everywhere though or the assault team will lose the element of surprise; and honestly I don’t trust Khadgar, Velen and that oversized blind elf leading us, no offense. There’s enough ego weight in that staircase to topple this building on its side.”

Kalecgos and Moira somberly nodded.

“Our leaders are the counterweight to that,” Karenthad agreed.

“If they die, those three will do to our armies what the Horde and Alliance did to theirs out of sheer overconfidence, arrogance, and recklessness. I’ve seen this happen many times,” Magatha stated darkly. “I’ve done much harm due to those faults as well, and the only person who dared believe I was still able to do good was the Farseer. It is time I repay her.”

“Where do we start?” Darion asked.

* * *

 

 

It was six hours later.

“Ye gods, how do they do it?” Moira asked, washing the blood off her hands before healing the myriad of little cuts dotting them.

They were sitting on the edge of a shallow pool in a long corridor. To one side a door led to an enormous demonic cage “thingy” as Karenthad had eloquently described it – which they wisely decided to leave alone until their leaders arrived – and to the other side there was a door leading back up to the atrium, still unfortunately filled to the brim with crazed spirits and demons of all shapes, sizes and powers.

Rogues came and went with supplies and news, telling them such things as how the High Priest had recovered and rejoined the other leaders, chastising Alonsus Faol for letting “Poor little Calia” replace her for three entire battles with either Naga or enormously dangerous demons, or how the assault team was progressing.  

 

Two hours later, they reached the atrium again, from the other side, and seamlessly traded places with their doppelgangers.

Darion dragged his exhausted ass to a pallet and fell on it, cracked and gorestained armor and all.

* * *

 

 

A few minutes later, the heroes arrived, and both Paladins and Death Knights rushed to retrieve their wounded leaders.

“Damn you paladins and your blasted Light, ow, it burns, ow!” Exu moaned in a stretcher.

“It was all your fault you stupid dead elf! Ow, ow, careful with the dangly bits!” Marcus yelled from where he was being carried in the opposite direction.

“Strange,” Siouxsie said with a frown as the improvised camp bustled with activity. “I don’t see Illidan’s Slayer anywhere.”

Thorval harrumphed.

“At least _some_ good news, then,” he said, elbows deep in the Deathlord’s exposed, burned guts.

Siouxsie would’ve been suspicious at her leader’s silence, if he weren’t passed out by now.

“Orders, please, we don’t want to rush things, but,” Khadgar shouted, an hour later, from the staircase next to Aegwynn’s dais where the Pillars of Creation had been reunited. “We need our heroes to be up and running soon, before Kil’jaeden finds the Avatar of Sargeras!”

Healers and necrosurgeons alike shouted in protest all over the atrium, except, again, in the small Illidari cluster.

“He can’t be serious!” Thorval snarled. “Just look at this mess, what the hell does he think, we’re just gonna stitch them up any which way and throw them back in the meatgrinder?”

“Yes,” Darion said tiredly. He was sitting on a pail next to the Deathlord’s pallet, where the elf continued dead to the world, even grayer than usual.

“Please… let me help,” a feminine voice said meekly, and Darion turned to see Calia Menethil standing a few yards away, wringing her hands. “Um, I’ve worked long with Alonsus Faol in healing the Forsaken. Maybe I can help speed up the process? I mean… the High Priest is Tauren, she’s well taken care of by the Light.”

The death knights looked warily at Arthas’ sister, who seemed to shrink under their stares.

“I know I can’t repair the damage my brother caused to you, but… if I can at least help.”

Thorval sighed, and shook his head before pulling a wet rag from the bucket next to him to wash his gory arms.

“Fine. I’m running out of what to do anyway, the damage is too severe. And we don’t have anyone else who could do bring him back like he did Darion.”

The priest princess started to work.

Half an hour later, she sent for the shaman Farseer.

Another hour in, the paladin Highlord came sheepishly to ask what was happening.

“He had to stand on consecrated ground for a long time,” Marcus said, and lowered his head. “Most of those Naga spit acid and had other nasty poisons in their bodies. The warlock could stay away, but us who were holding the melee line couldn’t be healed quickly enough without consecrating the ground with the Light. He negated as much as he could of its effects with his own magic, but,” he explained, shrugging sadly.

“Get me a monk healer!” the goblin shaman cried out suddenly, and the three healers stood and began shooing everyone away from Thorval’s improvised infirmary.

An old Pandaren male wobbled his way in, carrying a huge barrel and pushing among the various people who had gathered around the Ebon Blade camp.

Kayn Sunfury came a few minutes later, and sat beside Darion over some upturned pillars.

“Lord Illidan needs to know who is replacing the Deathlord,” he said quietly. “The assault team has to move on.”

Darion sighed. “I will ready the Horsemen,” he said, and stood.

A loud belch erupted nearby, followed by louder cheering.

“My armor! Hic!”                                                                                                                                 

Kayn surprised Darion by smiling hugely.

“Guess you’ll have to wait,” he said, and flew away to Illidan before Darion could say anything.

“He can’t just go back into the fray like this! Tell him he can’t go back into the fray like this!” Thorval yelled.

“He can totally go back into the fray like this. Good to see ya up, Exu, let’s go, we got demons to kill!” the shaman Farseer poked the Deathlord on the hip and left to gather her supplies, leaving Lord Thorval there with his jaw hanging open.

The necrosurgeon’s face closed off and he turned around.

“I didn’t spend the last hours of my unlife swimming in your guts just to see you get mown over all over again! You will only leave this camp over my dead body!”

“Ok,” Exu said, and swept Thorval off his feet with the Maw of the Damned, before stepping over him.

Thorval swore he saw the skull ornament in the axe laughing at his face.

“Let us go with you,” Darion said, running up to the Deathlord’s side, the other Horsemen at his heels.

“Nope.”

“What did you get the Four Horsemen up and running again for then? To do Bolvar’s bidding?” Trollbane asked, and Exu stopped on his tracks.

“Besides, you don’t get to sacrifice yourself if not all the other Order leaders are doing the same. Where the hell is the Illidari Slayer? Why haven’t Khadgar, Velen and Illidan joined in the battle yet?” Nazgrim barked.

The Deathlord turned slowly, and the Horsemen took a step back.

“I don’t care whether the Illidari will or not join the fight. I don’t care if anyone else joins in. And that is why it has to be _me_ , not you,” he said in such a cold voice it brought chills up Darion’s back. “If I die my true death today, the Ebon Blade will still have you to look up to, but if you die, what the hell will be left for us? I’m not Darion Mograine. Nobody knew who the fuck I was when I was alive, let alone now I’m dead. I am disposable. You are not. Deal with it.”

The Four stood in shock, as their commander turned and moved away.

The thirteen heroes joined and stood in front of the hidden stairs leading to the Avatar’s tomb.

“For Azeroth!” they shouted, and in an exquisitely anticlimactic way got down the stairs very slowly because of the traps still working inside, mumbling curses at Aegwynn’s lack of courtesy towards adventurers.

* * *

 

 

It was another entire hour before news arrived, in the form of the Illidari Slayer flying down from the cracked tower above. He landed next to Kayn and was joined by Illidan. Darion watched under his helmet as they talked, and the Slayer passed something to the Betrayer before gliding down into the Tomb.

Yet another hour later the Archdruid came up and informed the leaders’ assault party had succeeded in destroying the Avatar of Sargeras and that the few Legion demons left had disappeared through a portal in the depths below.

“Armies of the Legionfall, raise camp and follow!” Illidan growled loudly, and ran after the Archdruid.

“Who does that asshole think he is to order us about like –“

“You wanna stay here molding in the damp, by all means stay, Koltira. I’m gonna go help my friend,” Nazgrim growled and picked up his weapons before moving away, leaving the elf stunned.

“Knights of the Ebon Blade, we move in now!” Darion yelled. The other Horsemen stood behind him.

“For Azeroth!” Khadgar yelled, raising a fist.

Darion sneered.

“For our Deathlord!” he shouted, and the Ebon Blade chorused him in a roar.

Across the atrium, Lady Liadrin gave a ferocious grin.

“For the Highlord!” the paladins shouted.

Khadgar slowly lowered his arm as the Orders chanted for their leaders before following Illidan into the hole.

“Why, I never –“

“Me neither,” said Velen.

* * *

 

 

As quick as Illidan was, the Ebon Blade and the Illidari got to where the heroes were pretty much in time to hear him roar loud enough to shake the building above.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING TO MY SLAYER?” he boomed down from the edge of the hole in the room where the Avatar of Sargeras had been held, a high note of indignation at the end of the question.

Nazgrim covered his face with his palm, and Darion started laughing, his legs wobbling in relief when they reached the edge of the cave-in and saw their helmetless Deathlord, the Slayer perched on his hip with his wings trembling as they kissed.

Kil’jaeden put up a hell of a fight, enough to kill both the High Priest and the Archmage of the Tirisgarde. Velen and Khadgar took their places promising to rescue their bodies, left on Kil’jaeden’s ship, as soon as they found the wreckage, when the time came for the invasion of Argus.

A small, humble ceremony was made, but per request of the other Order Leaders no statues or plaques would be erected in their honor.

“They were just disposable adventurers, like us, not historical figures like you. They died so you can live, so your story can continue to inspire and bring solace to ordinary people. Like us,” the Archdruid said, and looked pointedly at the Azerothian legends present at the service.

Malfurion Stormrage swallowed dry, and shrunk a little in his seat.

Illidan looked thoughtfully from his brother to the Archdruid.

* * *

 

 

“But he’s a… he’s a male!” Illidan exclaimed, pointing at the Deathlord, who was, along with the Four Horsemen and his two loyal bodyguards Thassarian and Koltira, stuffing his face with mana pastries as if all he ever ate was Nomi’s horrendous food. Which was true, not only for them but for a bunch of the other Orders, so the only people not crowding the buffet table fighting for the conjured food were the monks, who were crowding the beer kegs instead.   

“I’m sin’dorei, Master Illidan, we don’t discriminate, remember? Remember Kael’thas’ garden of pleasures?” his Slayer said, a little smile in his lips.

“But he’s DEAD! He’s one of Arthas’ monstrosities!”

“Master Illidan, I ate a demon alive and instead of putting me down or getting it out of my body you helped me learn to control it and use the fel power just like you. I think that technically counts as me being one of your monstrosities?”

Illidan huffed, and his ears drooped a bit.

“I’ve been hearing horrible things about these… these death knights. That they’re bloodthirsty sadists. That they need to cause pain and suffering in order to not become mindless zombies like the ghouls they make out of rotted remains. That is _not normal_ , Hundredeye.”

“I know,” the Slayer said with a lusty grin, still watching the Ebon Blade delegation eating mana buns like starved street urchins. “On the other hand, remember that time he showed you the Blades forged from Frostmourne?”

Illidan blushed.

“Yes?”

Hundredeye’s sly grin widened.

“He fucks me while I torture Arthas Menethil’s spirit with the fel. That time we had been at it for days on end; he enjoys the former Lich King’s pain immensely. Other times I allow the demon inside me to surface freely so he can rape and subjugate it. The pleasure I get from its utter disgrace is exquisite, Master Illidan,” he explained, the fel flame in his eye sockets burning brightly. “The death knights are monsters, but so am I. I burned my soul in fel when I ate the demon, and it tainted me. As your power has tainted you. But unlike you, Lord Illidan Stormrage, I have nothing left once the Legion is destroyed. My family is dead. My people will never see me as anything but a freak. I am no prophesized hero. I am only rage and pain given form, like him. He recognizes that and respects me for what I am today, not the ghost of my former life. That is the greatest good I’m ever going to get, and I love him for it.”

Illidan stared, stunned, as his Slayer moved to drag the Deathlord away from the sweets by the cuff of his shirt, the dead elf’s protests smothered by the mana donut filling his mouth, and flew away with him in his arms, laughing at his antics.


	13. To Boldly Go Where No Death Knight Has Gone Before

The weeks passed. Demon invasions halted, at least temporarily, meant the Ebon Blade was left with little to kill except for the usual hostile wildlife, hostile dead and hostile living, like harpies, feltotem, vrykul, withered and the sort, so many days were spent in leisure, which for most of the death knights meant beating the crap out of each other in duels.

They had the help of the Illidari in that activity, since, like them, the demon hunters’ sanity depended on regular outlets for violent behavior.

Of course, some of the Ebon Blade and the Illidari came to the same conclusion that their leaders did and followed their (or Thassarian and Koltira’s) example, though they were much more discreet, except that time when a brawl in the Acherus training pit turned into a two-day orgy that only stopped when Illidan himself intervened, since some temptations were just too big to resist and poor Kayn Sunfury had been caught in the whirlwind of limbs when he had tried to call his troops into attention.

And then Lord Thorval and his necrosurgeon team had to fix the damage Illidan’s wrath had caused when an intrepid female gnome had made a comment about wanting to confirm if Lord Illidan REALLY knew the way. They spent a week picking up teeth, jaws and other death knight appendages, and sent a squad to goad the horrified Voragosa, Kyranastraz and the little undead whelps back into the Acherus.

At least that episode wasn’t directly the Deathlord’s fault, the aforementioned cheerfully reminded Darion, since he had been busy in meetings at Dalaran for that week.

Despite all the distractions, though, Darion worried every time he caught sight of the elf unawares. Exu’s face closed off when he thought no one watched him, setting in a sad, longing expression. Darion sometimes caught him looking down at the recruits training in the pit, up from the third floor balcony, as if trying to seal the image in his memory.

* * *

 

 

Darion opened the door to his quarters and sighed as he stepped back to let his last visitor in, moving to sit at the desk in the opposite corner to his bed.

“You’ll be leaving us, then,” Trollbane said.

“Yep. Velen says his replacement ship will be ready to leave in a couple of days, at most.”

Weathermane scowled deeply. “The Acherus is a fully functioning ziggurat, we could”

“No, we could not,” Exu said wearily, sitting on the farthest corner of Darion’s bed and resting his elbows over his knees, looking down. “Please don’t make this harder than it is.”

“This isn’t right. This idea of Velen’s is insane. It’s bad enough what Illidan did, but how many will you take, one, two hundred people? Such a small force is a drop in the ocean against an entire planet, it’s useless,” Darion said.

“They say there’s an army out there already, the ‘Army of the Light’ or whatever. Not strong enough, though. Paladins are too frilly for the sort of thing one needs to do in these situations.”

“You’re only going because HE will go,” Weathermane  accused, standing.

Exu snorted.

“It’s not just me, it’s the whole gang, you know.”

Darion froze, his finger up in the air in an admonishing gesture.

“All of the Order Leaders?” he asked in a shocked tone, and Exu nodded.

“Yep. We figured out since you guys thought that of all the adventurers in Azeroth we were the best to lead you in battle, maybe we could be good enough to storm Argus and get rid of Sargeras’ army before all of it moves down here.”

Nazgrim sighed deeply, and opened his mouth.

Exu raised a hand to shush him.

“Yeah I know, you won’t serve under humans, you agreed to serve under me, blah blah blah. That’s why you’re coming , too.”

Nazgrim’s eyes went wide, and after a moment he smiled like a child on Winter Veil day.

Exu turned to the others.

“Nazgrim will always be a pebble in Darion’s shoes if he stays, because of his position in the Horde. Newly-raised Ebon Knights from the Horde races would always question why he wasn’t the boss instead of Darion, why were three of the Four Horsemen Alliance and only one Horde, and so on, and so forth. Things are already hard enough without that.”

He smiled.

“On the other hand, there’s what I asked to meet you here for.”

All the Horsemen hugged the walls.

“Uh oh”

“No thank you!”

“If you take one piece of armor off I’ll yell rape!”

“I’m dating Aimee the cake vendor please don’t ruin me for her!”

Everyone stared at Darion.

“Why Darion, I didn’t know you had such a sweet tooth,” the Deathlord commented slyly. “Also, for fuck’s sake, why are you so scared? I never fucked anyone without consent recently, except for Hundred’s demon, a couple Legion Shivarras, that Naga girl who attacked me in Azsuna, three of Elisande’s male whores…”

Sally’s eyes went as wide as soup plates.

“How did you manage to rape a Naga? They’re FISH!”

“Oh they got this opening under a scale, it was cake after finding that.”

Even Nazgrim looked sick.

“Oh come on, they were trying to kill me, I was going to kill them _anyway_ , except for the demon; but that doesn’t even _count_ , Hundred loves the raping and I think the demon is starting to enjoy it, I mean, I hardly have to torture it much anymore and,” Exu raised an eyebrow when Sally grabbed a wastebasket and lost her lunch. “Ok, I’ll stop. What I’d like you to help me with is…”

* * *

 

 

Thassarian had always thought druids had a loose screw somewhere in their heads and the Dreamgrove just solidified that suspicion.

Dozens of bear-shaped druids of all colors waited in single-file as the quartermaster distributed their earnings for the week next to the Order’s vault. In another spot, a bunch of cat-shaped druids played with nightsaber kittens under the shade of other druids in the shape of trees.

Dryads skipped around carrying food and drink trays, nearly trampling them as the Ebon Blade delegation passed.

“Something’s not quite right,” Koltira said, and Thassarian snorted despite himself.

“I don’t think there are any nearby vases or baskets for us to jump in.”

Koltira elbowed him, and shook his head. Thassarian was right, he must be going paranoid from the lack of battle. That was the only explanation for the uneasiness he had been feeling for the past few days.

They reached a clear area before a dais, where the Archdruid met the Deathlord with a friendly hug.

“Are you ready then?” the Archdruid asked, and the Deathlord nodded, turning Koltira and Thassarian’s way.

The Four Horsemen stepped aside.

“This is uncomfortable but I promise it’ll pay off,” Exu said, and before Koltira and Thassarian could react, they were _shoved_ out of their bodies, which fell face first on the ground.

“Wait, they’re dead _already_?” Darion asked, and turned Thassarian’s body around.

“Oh yes,” the Pandaren Grand Master of the monks said cheerfully, moving between the still bodies. “The Spirit Expulsion Technique is quite effective.”

The Four Horsemen shared a look and decided to avoid crossing the monks as much as they could.

“Ok then, my turn,” Exu started. “Since you all were curious about how I did it with you guys and this is a safe place, pay attention, it’s actually a neat trick. It’s all to do with these, actually,” he said, and showed them the underside of his gauntlet. Unlike most, it had no gloves, but left the palm bare, aside from the leather straps that bound the protective plates to the back of the hand and arm. “If I were to use regular saronite mail to cover the whole hand it wouldn’t allow for the, er, ‘contaminant’ to be released.”

He then showed them the grip on the Maw of the Damned.

“See this spike here?” he asked, and the death knights stretched their necks to watch better. “See how it’s right at the beginning of this groove? Watch.”

He moved his hand, and the meaty part of his palm under his thumb rested over the spike, which pierced it as soon as he steadied his grip.

The Horsemen watched, fascinated, as the Deathlord’s dark blood ran down the Maw of the Damned in a steady, long trickle. He stood with his eyes closed, slowly breathing;; two tiny, rice-grain sized green glows slid down the blood until they reached the business end of the weapon, and Exu raised the Maw over Koltira and Thassarian.

“Arise, Horsemen of the Ebon Blade,” the Deathlord called, and the power of the Maw entered their bodies, taking the little specs of Life with it.

Thassarian and Koltira’s bodies jerked, and they sat up, screaming.

“What in Light’s name was that?” Thassarian yelled, jumping to his feet and reaching for his blades.

Koltira had also jumped up, his mouth foaming with rage.

“Wow, you so mad, one would think you never died before,” the Grand Master said, laughing.

“Sorry about that, boys, I need the power of the weapon to put the thing inside you,” Exu said, and shrugged. “Easiest way to do it was killing you and raising you back.”

Their jaws fell.

“THINGS? What _things_? What did you put in us? Did you know he was gonna do this? Ewwwwwwwww!” they cried in unison, pointed at the Horsemen and started wiping their hands in their own bodies.

“Ebon Blade! Attention!” Darion yelled, and they reflexively stood still. Darion motioned for the Deathlord – who at this time was nearly dying of the giggles – to explain.

“Ahem,” Exu said, ”Short version: the Lich King can’t see anything where Life energy lives. Like here in the Dreamgrove, he can’t see it, or Pandaria, or the Moonglade, or the Ruby Sanctum – well except once but that was totally my fault – so I put a piece of Life into your heads and now He or anyone who puts that blasted helmet on can’t ever control you again. Actually he can’t even sense where you are on his own anymore if you don’t want him to. Sometimes I allow Him to see and communicate with me so He won’t get like too suspicious, but that’s me controlling it. Oh and with that your runeblades can’t control you anymore, you get to control _them_. So it means you’re now free, _really_ free. Your destiny is your own.”

Koltira’s eyes sprouted tears on their own, the elf muted by awe, budding hope and gratitude.

“Wh-why?” asked Thassarian.

The Deathlord shrugged.

“I’m leaving for Argus to help try to get rid of the Legion for good, and Nazgrim is coming with me; and quite honestly the chances we’ll ever come back are so ridiculous I actually bet all my gold on myself, cause if we survive I’mma be so filthy rich I think I’ll buy Icecrown Citadel and turn it into a whorehouse just to spite the Lich King. I’mma get that gnome male whore of Elisande’s to suck Bolvar’s popsicle and use the pictures on the brochures,” he explained with a twinkle in his eye.  “Come melt the Ice Paladin,” he said, showcasing it with his hands, “Get off on our hourly hardcore orgies at the feet of the Frozen Throne! Fifty percent discount if you get Bolvar to jump off the tower in shame, free mug and your picture on the wall if you get him to participate!”

“Besides, it would be kind of stupid to have only Three Horsemen,” Darion said a while later, after the Deathlord had been suitably gagged. “We’ll put Thassarian as the Fourth and you’ll be our secret Fifth. That way if one of us falls in battle, we already have a replacement. We believe that way we can protect the Ebon Blade from those who would use us for their own purposes again.”

Koltira and Thassarian nodded solemnly.

“For the Ebon Blade!” the Five swore, joining hands together.

* * *

 

 

Darion opened his door at the second knock, later on that night.

“Hi,” Exu said, coming in. “I wanted to give you something before I leave. I mean… I like it, but the old can-opener gets jealous if I fight with it.”

He pulled the Apocalypse blade from its scabbard and handed it to Darion, who took it, rendered speechless.

“I thought, in case I don’t come back, someone should have it. Someone who deserved it and would use it proudly. So, well… that’s it. I cleared it up from my energy, so all you need to do is forge your own runes in it,” he explained, and put the sword’s scabbard over Darion’s bed.

“I… I… I don’t know what to say,” Darion said, raising his eyes.

The Deathlord shrugged.

“Then don’t.” He extended his hand to Darion, who shook it.

“It was an honor,” Darion said with feeling.

“Yeah. Me too.”

* * *

 

 

The only sign that the Order Leaders had left was, besides Khadgar’s absence in the Violet Citadel, a melancholic mood over the Broken Isles. It went on for a month, that the remaining Armies of the Legionfall used to clear the Isles of the few remaining clusters of demons and begin rebuilding as best they could.

Until one day, out of nowhere, another Legion ship appeared, with more demons to fight, and the war resumed.

After a grueling week of repelling yet another invasion, Darion and the other Horsemen (including Koltira, and oh, so many death knights had been hung over the balcony by their ankles for daring to joke about Thassarian being ‘only half a Horseman, with Koltira they make the Fourth’, it wasn't even funny) decided they had had enough moping while killing and could well mope while drinking at the Legerdemain Inn.

And so there they were, sprawled on the couches drinking their ale somberly, when Khadgar waltzed in, bold as brass.

Trollbane nudged Darion, pointing at the mage, and Darion stood up, affronted.

“Khadgar! What in the Void are you doing here?”

“Oh, hi Highlord! Did you like the news?”

Darion tilted his head, and Khadgar beamed at him.

“We found a way to get a portal working between Dalaran and the Vindicaar in Argus! I mean, it’s not stable enough to be open all the time but at least we can take some resources back up there once a week or so – you don’t wanna know the kind of stuff they eat in that place, ew. We even got mail coming and going, if I recall correctly a parcel has been sent to the Acherus already and –“

The Death Gate went up and the five death knights ran through it before Khadgar could finish speaking.

* * *

 

“Guys! Guys!” Siouxsie ran over to them, waving a rolled-up letter, sealed with the Ebon Blade seal over fel-green wax.

Soon everyone gathered around a table in the mess hall, waiting for Darion to begin.

He opened the letter carefully, and cleared his throat.

“Dear Acherus,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. I thought long and hard and I decided that considering the way the Argus campaign is going, the Order Leader role of the PCs in Legion is more or less done for, I mean, ok, Blizz apparently realized people were missing their homies and has (this week only) put some banners up in a corner of the Vindicaar, but it just doesn't feel the same not having a big presence in Argus like we had in the Broken Isles and the Shore. And story-wise it'd be stupid as hell for everyone to move to Argus in that tiny (have you seen the Vindicaar from outside in Argus? It's MINISCULE) spaceship for that sort of suicide mission. So the Acherus Chronicles end here.  
> It was a great run and I thank everyone who read this and discussed the Legion campaign with me. You guys rock!


	14. Chapter 14

Due to becoming so insanely enraged at Blizzard I had to take high blood pressure medication, this story has now a sequel, For Azeroth. 

Thank you for reading. 


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